


28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds til the Apocalypse

by ravensilverwing



Category: Donnie Darko (2001), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensilverwing/pseuds/ravensilverwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the Dean/Cas Fusion challenge. My prompt was Donnie Darko's world, Castiel in the role of Donnie Darko.</p><p>Donnie is Castiel. He's hearing voices. Everyone thinks he's crazy cause he burnt down Alastair's house. Everyone except the new boy in town, Dean. Zachariah's a smug bastard giving inspirational speeches about 'accepting your destiny'. But Castiel doesn't want to accept his destiny, he wants to figure out what's going on and stop the world from ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds til the Apocalypse

** Part One **

 

I’m watching Charlene on the trampoline from my bedroom window when her words drift across the room.

 

“Where do you go at night?” Genuinely curious.

 

Glance over to see Mom standing just inside the open doorway, dark hair pulled back tight.

 

I want to ignore her because I don’t have the answer. I wake up places. Roadside, tennis court, out in the woods. But I don’t know how I get there. Or why I go there. Just that I end up there.

 

Look away again, back out the window. Charlie still bouncing, innocent and carefree.

 

“I asked you a question.” Demanding, moving closer.

 

Look over and stare at her, watch her face fall. Then it mottles with frustration and despair.

 

“Sam tells me you’ve stopped taking your medication.”

 

Feel my face shut down into blank lines. Sam has the best of intentions. Probably has my welfare at heart but, tear my eyes away before she sees the anger. I wish he’d keep his damn mouth shut.

 

“What happened to my son?” And now she’s imploring.

 

Refuse to glance over. This isn’t fair. I’ve done everything, everything she’s wanted. Everything she’s ever asked for. I’ve done it all. Medication. Therapy. All of it useless but...

 

“I don’t recognise this person in front of me anymore.”

 

Which makes me briefly hate her. The flare of anger a warm rush as I feel every muscle harden. Eyes narrowing, fuming hate across the room at her. Watch as she visibly flinches.

 

“Then why don’t you take the god damned pills.” And the words are so bitter. Dark chocolate and ice.

 

She just turns and walks out the door.

 

The hate, it only lasts a minute. A moment before regret takes over. I didn’t mean to scare her. I don’t mean to be so...such a disappointment. I just don’t believe the pills are working. Nothing is working. Nothing makes the voices go away. Nothing makes the whispers any less distracting. Even if they stopped the sleep walking, it’s not enough. But it’s obviously enough for her.

 

***

 

So I end up staring into the bathroom mirror. Glaring at my own image. Self destruction, frustration, trepidation and more. Blue eyes aflame with anger. I don’t want to do this. I do not want to do this at all. But if it makes everyone so happy. Makes it so they won’t worry anymore. What choice do I have? The pills are useless, they don’t do anything. But if they stop the only sign they can see of my madness then...Watch my own eyes dip low, then drop down to the floor. I have to do this.

 

But I hesitate. I could stand here all night debating. Take the pills, don’t take the pills. No choice. I have no choices. Just take the god damned pills.

 

I just have to lift my hand and reach up, open up the mirror door. Just reach for the pill container sitting innocuously on the second shelf. Ignore the building rush of adrenaline. Thumb open the lid and tip the prescribed dosage out onto my palm. I can do this. Just take the pills and make everyone happy. Make all their worries go away. Lift my eyes up and catch my image in the edge of the open mirror. Everything about my face unsure. Slam my eyes shut tight, I don’t even want to see myself anymore.

 

“Fuck it.” Soft words before I swallow.

 

Then they’re gone. It’s over. I’ve done it.

 

Maybe this time I won’t hear the voices anymore.

 

Snort my opinion and ignore the fact my hands are trembling. Best I can hope for is I won’t sleep walk anymore.

 

***

 

October 2nd 2009

 

“Wake up.”

 

His voice is hard and heavy. I can still hear the others voices. Soft whispers, moans and crying. They’ve finally stopped their sounds of searching. No more calling out all day and night.

 

“I’ve been watching you.”

 

The others whispering in desperation. Frightened fear and exhaustion.

 

“Come.”

 

And I find I’m already moving. Carpet silent under my feet. Drifting quietly down the hall. Down the stairwell. Into the kitchen. Hand closing round a white board marker.

 

“Closer.”

 

Whispers suddenly uncertain. A chorus of mourning.

 

My feet are heading out the open door. Front door opened up to darkness, dim street light.

 

Street light illuminating a tall figure. Flashing silver eye sockets.

 

“Closer.”

 

And I’m moving slowly closer, discerning not everything is height. There are bunny ears. Big, tall, brown bunny ears. My mouth pulling into a smile despite the absurdity.

 

“28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds until the Apocalypse.”

 

Blinking, smiling at this absurd figure.

 

“That is when the world will end.”

 

And the whispering falls silent. Just me and the bunny man in the night. Frown, confused by the sudden silence.

 

“Who are you?”

 

***

 

“Castiel? Son?”

 

Blink eyes open to daylight. Morning. Grass. Golf course. Breathe out a soft, resigned, fuck.

 

“Son are you alright?” The local doctor is standing over me, looking down. Peering down at me in confusion.

 

They didn’t work. The medication didn’t work. This isn’t my bedroom and no, I’m not alright. Mom is going to be worried. Sam will, groan. Sam will be up and asking questions. Always asking but never...Wait. They’ve stopped talking. There aren’t any whispers anymore. Everywhere is silence. No more wailing. No more...

 

“Maybe he was sleep golfing.” Two men laughing.

 

Blink up into the sunlight to see a new man watching. Smirking mouth and smiling. But his eyes go wide at something. Something about me, something on me, something...Something written on my forearm. Numbers. 28:06:42:12. Frowning in confusion. I must have written that. Written that whilst sleep walking. Glance up again and his face is twisting into a grimace now. Distaste.

 

“So ah, just stay off the greens at night.” Doctor Fischer is saying, completely oblivious to his golfing partner.

 

Chance a glance back to the mystery man but he’s already turning away. Showing me his back.

 

“I’m so sorry Doctor Fischer.” Slowly standing but I’m speaking to both their backs now.

 

“Crazy local kid.” He’s whispering. “You hear about that Alastair’s house? Kid burnt it right to the ground.”

 

Which makes the new guy pause and dart a look over his shoulder, assessing.

 

“Really?”

 

And instead of sounding horrified he sounds like I’m suddenly interesting. Meet his eyes and glare right back.

 

“Castiel?” Doctor Fischer is turning.

 

“Sorry Doctor Fischer.”

 

It’s time I should be leaving.

 

***

 

Why would he look at me like that? Most the time I get horrified or fury. Sometimes curiosity or...There are cars everywhere. A news van sidling up against the side walk, behind a line of police cars. Uh oh. No time to puzzle his interest in me out. No time to consider the sudden blissful silence in my head. Only enough time to push through the crowd and demand to get inside my own...Whoa. Is that a...a jet engine? From a plane? From an airplane?

 

“It fell in your room.” Charlie is calling happily from Sam’s arms.

 

I can only blink. That, that fell in my room? On my house? In my bedroom?

 

Sudden flash of bunny ears. Silver eyes and calling.

 

“Are you alright?” Sam’s quietly asking as I make it over to them.

 

Continue staring at the engine. That, that almost fell on me? Would have fallen on me except he called me out. Called out by a man in a bunny suit who...Swing my eyes round to stare at my arm. The numbers written up the inside of my forearm. Numbers I wrote on my arm because a man in a bunny suit told me the world was going to end. That there is going to be an Apocalypse.

 

“Cas?”

 

Jerk my eyes up to meet Sam’s.

 

“Hey, are you alright?” He’s reaches a hand out but slowly lets it drop as I follow its movement.

 

“I’m...” Unsure, confused. What the hell is going on?

 

“What’s that?” Charlie wants to know.

 

The innocence of youth. She has no idea what’s really going on. Oblivious to everything but the fact her older brother likes to take ‘early morning walks’ in his pyjamas. And she’s not allowed to.

 

“What’d you write on your arm?” She demands to know.

 

“I...”Glance up to meet Sam’s eyes but he looks away in resignation. He doesn’t think I took my pills. He thinks I tossed them down the sink. Great. Just great.

 

“It’s just a date.”Look over and meet Charlie’s eyes. Eyes that don’t judge or worry or hate. “Just a date I have to remember.” Try to smile.

 

She just nods and smiles right back.

 

“Mom was worried.”Sam’s intent on telling me. Eyes direct and pained.

 

“I was out walking.” Murmur whilst still watching the crane. Crane lifting the engine up and over the front yard. Swinging it round slowly towards a waiting truck.

 

“Yeah.” And he sounds so tired. “We figured.”

 

“I did...” Drop my voice. “I took my pills Sam.”

 

A flash of disgust.

 

“Try telling Mom that.”

 

And he and Charlie walk away.

 

Mom’s talking to some guys in dark suits. The engine slowly touches down on the back of the truck now. It looks burnt out inside, smoke marks licking up the outside casing. Bright purple and red symbols painted on the cone piece. The piece at the very front of the engine, dead centre before the fans. Symbols untouched by the smoke and fire marks. Frown and move closer but Sam’s back and Charlie tugs on my shirt.

 

“They don’t know where it came from.” Sam sounds less tired and stressed and pissed this time. More human and normal and trying to be polite. He sounds much nicer. At least he’s trying to sound nice.

 

Glance over and there’s an apology in his eyes. Nod slowly and look back at the symbols. Must be some sort of FAA thing. Some way of identifying the engine, which plane it came from. Something like that.

 

“If it fell from a plane,” Charlie wants to know. “Then what happened to the plane?”

 

“They don’t know Charlene.” Sam says.

 

Which, what? How can they not know that? Stare at Sam and wait till our eyes meet. The same question mirroring mine. Don’t they have ways to match those symbols with a plane? Surely there’s a plane missing an engine. Airplanes don’t just continue flying, I mean, a missing engine can’t just go unnoticed. Can it?

 

***

 

Next morning I wake in a bedroom. Not my own bed which is a crumpled pile of splinters but a hotel bed where the FAA has set us up for the duration. Until they can fix the house. Until I have a bedroom again. Sam is already up and gone. Gone where, I don’t know. I have no idea until I hear his hushed voice talking to Mom in the adjoining living room. At least they gave us an apartment suite. Two bedrooms. Living room. Tiny kitchen and bathroom. Sam and I sharing a bedroom for the first time in years. Since Mom bought the house after Dad died. Some sort of hunting accident is what I’ve heard but I don’t have the heart to ask Mom, Sam doesn’t know and Charlene is too young to remember him.

 

So Sam and Mom are whispering in the living room. Mom shared a room with Charlie last night, sounds like she had nightmares, and now Mom is worried about her. Not worried about me for once. I’m not complaining, but why wouldn’t Charlie be okay? Except a large jet engine crashed into her house last night, whilst she was actually in it.

 

“I thought she was past this.” Mom is whispering.

 

“It’s probably just stress from the engine crash. I’m sure...” Sam is soothing. Sam is good at soothing. Soothing Mom’s nerves about me, about my future, about practically everything since Dad died.

 

“No.” Mom sounds uncertain. “She wet the bed last week. I didn’t tell you. I know you have a lot to worry about right now with Harvard coming up.”

 

“I haven’t gotten in yet Mom.”

 

“But...”

 

“I know. I will.”And I can hear the smile in his voice from here.

 

“When’s breakfast?” Sounds like Charlie has appeared.

 

***

 

There’s more staring at school than usual. Not that I’m surprised. An aircraft’s jet engine fell on my house. In my bedroom. And I didn’t cause it. Must be straining some people’s limited minds trying to figure out how, or if the local crazy kid did it.

 

“I hear you’re sleep walking again Castiel.” Mocking jibe spilling out from the tall, broad, black Uriel. He is a thug. Thug, thief, probably a drug addict too. I don’t think there’s much he wouldn’t do.

 

Ignore the taunt and keep on walking down the crowded corridor.

 

A dozen pairs of eyes swing round to stare. The normal whispers start again.

 

“Crazy Castiel. Do you think he did it? How come he survived?”

 

Even the staff are staring. Professor Anna, the maintenance guy, Mrs Farmer and...is that the guy from the golf course? He and Mrs Farmer whispering while he stares and watches me pass by. Eyes still assessing. Assessing what? And what is he doing here?

 

At least the other whispers are still quiet. Not a sighing whimper of searching or a mournful cry of desperation since the other night. The other night when a man in a bunny suit told me there was going to be an Apocalypse. A very different sort of message from the other voices. The world is going to end.

 

Nothing ethereal or confused about that. A simple statement for once.

 

He can’t have been real. The world can’t be ending. Even if a jet engine through my bedroom is a little odd. The world cannot be coming to an end.

 

Reach my locker and pull out my books.

 

Maybe I should tell Dr Missouri about the man in the bunny suit. He said his name was Raphael. She already thinks I’m crazy, so it’s not like her opinion could get any worse. Can’t get any worse than it is right now. Crazy Castiel. Sigh. There’s just no one else to talk to. Sam will get that freaked out, scared and worried look. Mom will...Slam the locker door closed. No one else to tell. No one else I can tell.

 

***

 

Professor Anna covers English when she’s not teaching Science. She’s pretty and pale with bright red hair. Younger than the other teachers. A lot nicer too. Doesn’t mock or belittle or judge. Doesn’t look at me like I’m an explosion waiting to happen.

 

She sits on her desk instead of behind it. ‘Graeme Green, The Destructors’ in white chalk on the black board behind her. Anna talks about Old Miseries. How a group of boys break into his house, use everything they can to tear it down. And when Joanie can’t answer her simple question she turns to me.

 

“Castiel, perhaps with your recent brush with mass destruction you can give us your opinion.”

 

From anyone else there’d be mockery, from Anna there’s only curiosity, a genuine wanting to know.

 

The answer is an easy one, the story isn’t complex if you’ve taken the time to read it.

 

“They say it the best when they flood the house and tear it down. Destruction is a form of creation.”

 

A rush of whispers. Whispers rushing round. Creation. Destruction. Bringing it all to an end. Tired so tired...

 

“Castiel?”

 

Blink, pull...try to pull my focus back in. Focus back on her pretty red hair. Knowing dark eyes.

 

“So the fact they burn the money, it’s ironic. They just want to see what happens when they tear the world apart.” Another deafening rush of voices. Pleading, crying, in pain. “They just want things to change.”

 

Concern cut short by the classroom door opening.

 

“May we help you?”

 

Breathe. Just breathing through it. No idea why they’re suddenly rushing back now. Raging cacophony of sound. Their voices continue rising. Start to swirl around. Echoing off the windows.

 

‘Change. Destroy. We’re abandoned!’ Wailing, blocking out all other sounds.

 

Breathe, just breathe. It’ll pass. They always pass. Always calm back down.

 

“I registered but they put me in the wrong English class.” Cocky voice, distinctly normal and absolutely real.

 

“You look like you belong here.” Anna’s saying.

 

Turn to see him. Casual dark blue jacket, grey t-shirt, jeans with boots instead of shoes. Nothing like I’ve ever seen before. His eyes carefully watching, calmly accessing as they slide across the room. One side to the other, slight pause as they meet mine then tugged away to sweep over the room again.

 

“Where do I sit?” He’s not even trying for cordial. Just gets straight to the point, direct.

 

“Sit next to the girl you think is the cutest.” Anna is smiling, I don’t need to turn back to see it. Her voice is egging him on.

 

Watch as he winks and smiles at the girls in the room, eyes alighting here and there. Falling briefly back to me then skittering away again. Another round of grinning before he meets my eyes this time. A pause. A blush. I can see his heart beat faster. Pulse thudding in his throat.

 

“Joanie, get up.” Anna orders.

 

She’s given him the seat right next to mine.

 

***

 

Sam’s the one driving me to therapy this time.

 

“Construction workers say it’s going to take about a week to get all the work done.”

 

“Do they know where the engine came from yet?” I’m curious. Cause how can they not know?

 

Watch his eyes slide away, concentrating too hard on the road.

 

“They made Mom sign some document. We had to promise not to talk about it.”

 

“So they made her sign something so we won’t tell anyone what nobody knows?”

 

He just shrugs.

 

“But ah...I guess...you can tell Dr Missouri. I mean, if you want to.”

 

And he’s looking at me again, smiling helpful, hopeful. Which is nice only he’s not watching the road. Doesn’t see the old lady which we’re rapidly approaching.

 

“Sam!”

 

“Fuck!” He hits the breaks and the car slams to a halt. “What the hell is she doing there?”

 

“It’s Grandma Death.”

 

“What?” He looks confused.

 

“Grandma Death. You know...” Unclip my seat belt and open the door.

 

“Cas!” He sounds impatient.

 

“Just one moment.”

 

She’s still standing in the middle of the road. But the moment I reach her she starts walking away from me. I trail after her for a few steps, making sure she reaches the edge of the road. Poor old lady doesn’t even know what’s going on around her.

 

“Every living creature on Earth dies alone.” Barely a whisper as I turn to head back to the car.

 

“What?” Turn back slowly. But the other whispers pick her voice up and echo it around me.

 

‘Alone. We’re all alone.’

 

***

 

“I made a new friend.” Confess to Dr Missouri.

 

Her couch is old and soft and lumpy. She doesn’t sit in a doctor’s chair like in the movies. She likes to sit on the other end of the couch and listen closely.

 

“Real or imaginary.” She asks softly.

 

I’d like to protest the assumption but I have been known to see things before. Which makes me assess this. This wasn’t like the other times. The other times were mainly voices, sometimes colours and light but this was a man. He may have been a man in a rabbit suit but...

 

“Real. He said his name was Raphael.”

 

“And what did Raphael have to tell you?”

 

It’s obvious she doesn’t believe me. I’m not completely sure myself but...

 

“He said there’s going to be an Apocalypse. That the world is going to end.”

 

“Do you think the world is coming to an end?”

 

Frown. Stare. It can’t be.

 

“No. That’s stupid.”

 

***

 

**Part Two**

 

Dean, the new boy’s name is Dean. He’s still wearing his casual clothes. Either doesn’t have or refuses to wear the school uniform that the rest of us are wearing. Black pants, white button down shirt and dark tie. Even I’m wearing this uniform, even if my tie is pulled sideways from frustration and the top two buttons of my shirt are undone. He’s in a green undershirt today. A warm, soft looking flannel shirt, unbuttoned over the top. Same boots and jeans and a pendant hanging round his neck that looks like, squint, the bronze head of a Hindu? Feel the frown deepen as I try to figure out why he would be wearing something like that. Most of the people around here are Christian.

 

Flick my eyes up to catch him staring, sudden flash of heat and his eye brow rises. Tear my eyes away and back towards the TV screen. To the video we’re supposed to be watching. Freeze startled. It’s the guy from the golf course. The one who looked at me so strangely.

 

“People all over America have come to understand that human life is absolutely too important, too valuable and too precious to be controlled by fear.” He’s smoothly talking into the camera. Complete confidence. No hint of wavering. “Hello, my name is Zachariah. Welcome to Accepting Your Life.”

 

Glance hurriedly down at the hand-out that was given to us. This is the new syllabus for gym class? This is the guy they’re entrusting to teach us, what? Acceptance? Accepting your life? What if I don’t want to accept my life? What if my life is worth struggling against?

 

A life of whispered voices, which are back despite the medication. A life of worrying my family and sleep walking?

 

“Hey, do you have a pen?”

 

Stop my head shaking to notice the new boy, Dean, his name is Dean; is reaching over the empty seats between us.

 

“Sorry?” Stare at him in confusion.

 

“I forgot my stuff. Can I borrow a pen?”

 

His eyes are hazel. Base of green lit up by sunlight, flecked with gold and brown. Freckles have run riot over his nose and cheeks. Freckles so tiny that...

 

“Um...what’s your name?” He’s persistent. “I just need to borrow a pen.”

 

Heat, a wave of crimson. I can feel my face burning.

 

“Yeah. Of course. Sure.” Hand mine over and reach into my bag for a new one.

 

“I’m Dean.” He offers smiling.

 

“Yeah.” Blink at him baffled. “I know.”

 

He waits, staring at me expectant. Then finally grins and looks away.

 

***

 

Mom is trying to get Charlie to go to bed early tonight but she doesn’t like the strange hotel. Doesn’t want to sleep here. Keeps asking when we’re going home. Sam’s out at some friends house. Guess he doesn’t like the hotel either.

 

I find falling asleep here much, much easier. Just fall into bed, my head hits the pillow and I’m dreaming. Dreaming of water, of floods and buildings sinking.

 

It’s peaceful, even if Raphael is calling out again.

 

“Wake up Castiel.”

 

And I find myself following.

 

It’s not too far to the school grounds. Not too hard to find an axe. Easy to find the water main. And easier still to hack into it. Metal slicing into metal. Water spraying up.

 

Too easy. It’s all too easy.

 

Too easy to let the whispers wash over me. So easy to just stop holding my frustration back.

 

***

 

The bus must be running late. Not that that seems to bother Charlie, she’s more than happy to keep everyone entertained. She’s been writing again, for her English class I guess. Though I don’t know what kind of assignment leads to monsters. Maybe it’s for her writing challenge. She and her friends are trying to win a national competition.

 

“...and then he grabbed the shotgun and started firing the iron rounds as the shtriga...”

 

“What’s a shtriga?” One of her friends is asking.

 

Charlie is more than happy to explain.

 

“It’s a witch who feeds off human life force. Only it loves children. It’ll feed off you and put you in a coma and if the hunter doesn’t kill it then you’re never coming back!”

 

My sister has a vivid imagination. And when it comes to ghost or monster stories, she appears to be the best.

 

I’m glad someone in our family can be labelled as having a vivid imagination and not completely cracked. Not that Sam is cracked. Or Mom. Sam is going to Harvard. Very little chance he’ll miss out on that. My big, huge older brother is smarter than...

 

“Schools been cancelled! Someone flooded the school.”

 

Blink, turn my head slowly. I did not just hear that.

 

“Someone flooded the school so it’s cancelled.” Charlie’s best friend is practically dancing. “My Mom got a call. There won’t be any school today so you can come to my place and we’ll...”

 

But I...Raphael...dreaming. I was dreaming. Apparently not. Stand very still. Stare out across the road and remind myself to breathe.

 

“Can I?”Charlie is asking. “Can I go to Jessie’s place? Please Castiel?”

 

Look down to hopeful pleasure and nod slowly.

 

“Yeah.” Try to keep my voice from shaking. “I’ll call Mom.”

 

***

 

Why does this keep happening? I didn’t want to destroy the school last night. I remember dreaming it. And the voices, I remember the voices. Eager voices. I heard Raphael come back. Along with eager, happy voices. I guess the mourning has ended. No more crying, wailing, searching. All that seeking seems to have stopped. It’s like Alastair’s house all over. I don’t even remember doing that. I just dreamt it. It was a dream. A dream that turned out to be true. I just, I want it all to stop. I don’t want to destroy, or burn, or flood things.

 

Turn the corner and Uriel’s with his latest side kick, taunting Dean at the bus stop. Dean doesn’t seem to have noticed they’re there. Lounging comfortably again the sign post. One hand close to his front jeans pocket, the other scratching lazily at his neck. I want...I want him to notice me approaching. But I never have good luck.

 

“School is cancelled.” Tell them quietly. Eyeing Dean and trying to ignore Uriel, I don’t want his attention.

 

“Burn down any houses lately?” Uriel starts taunting.

 

I can only stand and stare at Uriel. If Dean hasn’t heard it all before, he’ll hear it all right now. Close my eyes and pray for deliverance. But I don’t know who I’m praying to.

 

“See this here’s the crazy kid.” Uriel swaggering closer. “Crazy Castiel.” He’s really relishing it this time, pushing inside my personal space. Waiting, just waiting for me to...

 

“Leave him alone.” Dean voice sounds lazy. Like he doesn’t care one way or the other.

 

Uriel just ignores him. He just moves in closer and starts to circle round to my back.

 

“Don’t you have something better to do? Ha? Someone else to bother cause I’m pretty sure he doesn’t give a crap. Cause let me guess. You circle round him, say the same inane shit, congratulate yourselves then fuck the hell off?”

 

Uriel’s finished his tight circle, slowly turning and showing me his back.

 

“Why don’t we skip the boring parts and get straight to the part where you go to hell? Ha? Just for kicks.” And Dean’s smiling. Cock sure, grinning.

 

He’s not scared of Uriel. Not scared of getting his arse kicked or his head shoved in a toilet.

 

“Come on Castiel.”Eyes sliding right past them and lingering on mine. “Why don’t you walk me home?”

 

And he’s finally pushing away from the sign post, striding towards me, blatantly ignoring Uriel. Uriel doesn’t stop him. Just lets him slide past and walk away. Blink at him a moment then turn to follow.

 

We’re half a block away before he speaks again.

 

“They bother you like that all the time?”

 

Nod silently.

 

“Ever considered just punching him?” He wants to know.

 

Stop and stare with wide eyes. He doesn’t know? Or doesn’t he believe them?

 

“Don’t look so freaked. Geez. Anyone would think I suggested you gank the guy.”

 

“No...I mean...” But the words get caught and I can’t seem to speak past the ball of hope stuck in my throat.

 

“Come on, you can spit it out.” Still smiling.

 

“I burned down a house.” Swallow hard. “This guy Alastair. He had a torture chamber but I didn’t know that, I just set his house on fire.”

 

“Yeah. And?” Impatiently waiting, like what I’ve just told him is nothing. Nothing at all.

 

“He was still in the house.” Barely a whisper.

 

“Dude.” His eyes suddenly wide. “You killed a guy?”

 

“NO! No, I...he got out. He woke up and he got out.”

 

“Well that’s...” He seems lost for words. “You’re just a regular little hooligan aren’t you?”

 

And he’s still smiling, even if it’s not as wide anymore.

 

“You’re not...You don’t think I’m crazy?” My eyes are wide and half pleading. No one, I mean...everyone thinks I’m crazy.

 

He starts walking again and I can’t help but follow.

 

“Well burning down a house with a guy still in it is a little unusual but I wouldn’t call you crazy. A little misguided maybe. I mean, my Dad. He’s awesome but some people think he’s crazy. Some people say he gutted my Mom and set her on fire to hide the evidence, which is complete bull crap. He was never convicted of anything but people still talk. You know?”

 

His Dad, he... Whoa. And people think I’m crazy.

 

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.” He’s shaking his head, rueful.

 

“Because you don’t think I’m crazy?” Offer hopefully.

 

“You don’t get that much do you?” Watching me as we walk, his eyes level and assessing.

 

“Get what?” Frown and stare right into his eyes.

 

“People not thinking you’re crazy. I mean, you’re a little weird and all but...”

 

“I hear voices.” Blurting it out.

 

Which makes him pause, look away a moment.

 

“My Dad, he says my Mom was killed by a demon. So...”A quick glance back, away, then he meets my eyes steady and certain. “I’m not going to throw stones here.”

 

We walk for awhile in silence.

 

“Look, I should go. Molotov gave me this physics thing. Best invention to benefit humanity.”

 

He makes it sound like a complete waste of time. Like all of this is a complete waste of his time.

 

“You mean Monotof and that would be antiseptics.”

 

“Come again?”

 

“Antiseptics. Before that there was no sanitation, especially in medicine.” Explain. I’m just trying to be helpful.

 

“You mean soap?” He looks like he doesn’t believe me, like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like this is all just a big joke.

 

Nod.

 

“Alright then. Soap it is.” He stops and glances sideways across the street. “This is my place.”

 

“I’m glad the school was flooded today.” Blurt out then feel the rush of adrenaline, horrified embarrassment.

 

He just laughs.

 

“And why’s that?” His hazel eyes are smiling.

 

“Cause we had this conversation.” May as well continue my mortification.

 

“You are one weird dude you know that.” Still smiling. “But I still don’t think you’re crazy.”

 

He makes sure I understand that.

 

“Do you wanna, I mean, we call it...”

 

He’s patiently waiting. Then not so patient when I falter and just stare at him.

 

“Go with me?” I blurt out.

 

A tiny frown.

 

“Go with you where?” He looks confused.

 

“No, I mean. That’s what we call it here. Going with someone.” Try to explain it to him.

 

Sudden understanding then he’s nodding, quirked half smile on his face.

 

“This is my place...” One hand waving towards a house across the street.

 

“Oh. Okay.” Disappointed. He was just humouring me.

 

“No I mean, do you want to come in? Dad’s not home and we have all day.”

 

He must think I’m hesitating because the next thing he’s saying is, “I have beer.”

 

I’m startled out of speech.

 

“I...”

 

“It’s okay, you probably have other stuff...” And he’s kicking the curb and shifting.

 

“...haven’t had beer before.”

 

“Never?” He seems genuinely shocked.

 

Shake my head.

 

“Dude you’re gonna love it. Come on. We have plenty.” And he’s taking off across the street towards his front door.

 

“Won’t...” And I’m hopelessly trailing after him, pulled by an unseen force. “Won’t your Dad get angry?”

 

“Dad?” He scoffs as he digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a key ring. “No.” Like it’s impossible.

 

But I watch the blush creep up from under his t-shirt. He checks over his shoulder to see if I’m still following, or if I actually believe him.

 

I must look uncertain because his previous grin is faltering, hands pausing with the key in the lock.

 

“You don’t have to have one.” He’s placating.

 

“No. No I want one.”

 

Which is blatantly untrue and probably a bad idea with my medication. But his eyes light up and the cocky grin is back.

 

“That’s the spirit.”

 

***

 

Dr Missouri seems a little calmer today. Not that she doesn’t always look calm but, today there’s something extra going on. Something more when she asks how my week has been. So it’s easy to tell her about Dean. How his Dad’s never home and we go out in the woods after school. Outside where it’s quiet. And private. Places no one ever goes. How he doesn’t look at me like I’m crazy, doesn’t call me crazy Castiel. How now he doesn’t call me Castiel at all. He calls me Cas like Sam does.

 

His arms are pale golden tan and there are more freckles over his face than numbers can tell.

 

And he doesn’t think I should just accept things. He thinks I have a right to rebel. Cause not everyone’s the same and even if I do hear voices, what’s the harm right?

 

I haven’t told him about the school. About how I burst the water main. I won’t tell Missouri either. I don’t want to go back to jail.

 

So I don’t tell her about the police at school. That they found graffiti on the ground below the school mascot. Axe lodged firmly in its bronze skull. Or that they made everyone write on the black board. Everyone scrawling in their own messy hand writing.

 

‘They made me do it.’

 

I don’t tell her that the police looked especially hard at me. Me and Uriel.

 

***

 

“So they make you go to therapy?” Dean seems openly horrified.

 

I’ve long since become resigned to the fact.

 

“It’s only once a week. For an hour. I just talk about random stuff.”

 

Dean is carefully cleaning his Dad’s rifles.

 

“Don’t they make you talk about...I dunno, your emotions?” He looks like he’d rather go to hell.

 

Quirk a sideways smile at him.

 

“They can’t exactly make me.”

 

He looks up, impressed.

 

“You know how to shoot one of these?” An obvious change of topic.

 

“No.”

 

“Seriously?” He seems genuinely shocked.

 

Nod.

 

“I think it’s time you got lessons.” Bright purpose filled smile.

 

***

 

His hands are warm and calloused, his chest warm against my back. I can’t focus. Even as he slowly brings the rifle up to my shoulder. It’s hard to remember to breathe let alone where I’m supposed to put my hands. Except his hands are guiding mine right back every time I move them.

 

“You feel that now, right?”

 

Nod numbly. All I can feel is his body. Hands. Heat. Chest and hips.

 

“Are you even paying attention?” A whisper of his lips brushing against my cheek.

 

Try to swallow but I’m too distracted. My mouth gone papery dry.

 

“Cas?” His hands removing the gun from mine. Fingertips stroking across my palms. “I thought we were here for a shooting lesson.”

 

“We are.” I assure him. I don’t want him to leave me here. I know my way back but...

 

“Uh ha.” He murmurs softly. “One you aren’t paying a lick of attention to.” Dry lips brushing trails up and down my neck, pushing the collar of my white shirt out of the way. One of his hands is still holding the rifle. The other is resting outside my school shirt, over my hipbone. So still, unmoving. Waiting.

 

“I...It’s hard to pay attention.” Try to remember to breathe whilst confessing.

 

“And why would that be?” Voice low, lips right against my ear.

 

“You.”Admitting it. “You’re distracting.”

 

“Is that so.” Teasing lightly. “And why is that?” His free hand sliding under my untucked shirt.

 

My breathing suddenly shuddering. I’ve never. No one has ever...

 

“Cas?” Soft and low.

 

“I haven’t...I’ve never...” Suddenly stuttering.

 

“Never shot a gun before?” Rough fingertips stroking absently. “Of any kind?”

 

“No.”

 

“Ever?” Suddenly shocked.

 

“No.” And already my legs are shaking.

 

“Wow. Are you for real?” Moving round to face me. “Seriously?”

 

Shame is a scarlet red blush.

 

“Who’d want to go with crazy Castiel?” Bitter anger. Meet his eyes and refuse to look away.

 

“Me, for one.” Hazel, direct. “You’re pretty for starters and I don’t normally do boys.”Glancing down then off sideways. “I mean, not normally. Sometimes. Mostly it’s just girls. But you...” Staring again, shrugging, a pink tinge that may be a blush. “I like you. So if you’ll just let me.” Tilting his head down and our lips brush. Soft breath of relief then another, slower brush.

 

I didn’t think kissing was supposed to be this careful. Step forward and press in harder. A moment of mutual moaning then tongues get bitten in the rush.

 

“Whoa. Okay. Slow down there.” Softly laughing. “Just.” Kissing softly. “Let me show you.” Lips pressing closer together. Quiet, slow glide then opening softly. Quick slide, gentle tongue stroke.

 

“There’s no reason to hurry.” His hand is back to trailing absent patterns. “I could do this all night and day.”

 

***

 

I might be floating a little. May have been turned into a girl. Slowly turned with lips and careful fingertips, calloused hands. Warm skin. I might be floating but I still baulk at my swollen lips in the mirror. Pills. My medication. Dean may make me forget about a lot of things. May make the voices fade out. But he can’t make me forget about this. About not wanting to do this. Take these. Take these useless tiny pills that refuse to fix my problems. I still hear things. I still sleep walk and destroy things. Do horrible things I barely remember. Things I do not want to do.

 

At least the voices made some sense before. Seeking, searching, wailing. But this, this is crazy, not even close to silence. And what I did to the school. Why the god damned school? I don’t want to go back to jail. I don’t want to...

 

“Don’t worry.”

 

Jerk my eyes upward and search for the bunny suit.

 

“You got away with it.” He assures me.

 

He’s not here. He can’t be here.

 

“Why’d you make me do it?” Ask desperately.

 

“I can do anything I want to you.”

 

But I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me. Stare at myself in the mirror, pale and desperate. Please don’t make me do it again.

 

“Why’d you make me flood the school?” I’m desperate to know.

 

“Do you believe in destiny?” He asks me.

 

Destiny? Who’s destiny?

 

There’s a sudden pounding on the bathroom door.

 

“Who are you talking to?”

 

It’s Charlie. Just Charlie. Not...nothing else.

 

“Castiel?”

 

“I’m just taking my pills.” Call back.

 

Taking my pills. Going to take my pills. Going to take them, and take them every day and this’ll be over. I’ll be normal again. It’ll all just go away.

 

***

 

We’re back to watching Zachariah’s insipid inspirational speech’s on video in gym class.

 

“Guy’s a total douche bag.” Is Dean’s only contribution before drifting off to sleep in the near dark of the classroom.

 

Today’s exercise is to take a scenario and put it on a two emotion scale. Like people are only capable of two possible emotions. Acceptance or Struggle. Accepting their lot in life and all it’s...

 

“What a pile of crap.” Dean is muttering now the video is over.

 

Accepting life’s hardships for the soul enriching experience it is as part of your destiny or struggling in fear and doubt and creating unhappiness in yourself and those around you. Putting struggling to be a better person and refusing to accept the problems life throws at you into the category of ‘you’re a selfish prick’. Preaching that it’s better to just accept your fate, your destiny and lay back and think of others. Even if by accepting a shitty destiny you’re endangering others and even yourself. Dean’s right, what a pile of crap.

 

“Castiel. Why don’t you come up here and read your card.”

 

I’d rather not but Mrs Farmer is a bitter and twisted woman who takes delight in tormenting my mother over her so obvious failure at both life, her marriage and raising her children. Which is not only unfair, it’s blatantly untrue. Mom isn’t to blame for me being crazy. She didn’t raise me to set fire to buildings and burst water mains.

 

“Castiel!” Her voice gets sharper.

 

Take the card she offers and stand in front of the class. Dean is sitting up straighter, suddenly more alert than he has been for the rest of the class.

 

“Well.” Stringent tones making my stomach roll. “Read it out.”

 

Whispers wrap around me. ‘Destiny. Failure. It’s over.’

 

“ ‘John discovers he has only five months to live, he has a rare and inoperable cancer. Rather than concern his family he decides to leave them each a letter explaining what has happened and why he can’t be there.’” Let the hand holding the card drop. “This is stupid.”

 

More than that it’s insulting. To insinuate that people can be reduced to two things. Just two. Nothing more than that. That struggling is a bad thing and acceptance, no matter what the cost is better.

 

“Just put a cross on the Struggle/ Acceptance line.” She explains.

 

“But you can’t just split things into two categories. Life isn’t that simple. And what about how his kids feel? He’s being a coward. He doesn’t tell them face to face because he’s afraid. What kind of father does that? How is just walking away and not trying to get treatment a better option?”

 

“Just put a mark on the line or you’ll get zero for the exercise.”

 

Is that all she can think about? Just a stupid exercise. In a stupid class. Created by some smug fuck.

 

“Is this so you can sleep with that Zachariah guy?”

 

Despite the fact I can hear Dean laughing it’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever said. As her face goes red and her eyes go wide I can see an endless future of detentions.

 

***

 

Dean hasn’t stopped laughing about my outburst. Mom was unsurprisingly horrified. Another thing for her to worry about. Sam was, well Sam actually choked on a laugh and had to look away. The construction to fix the destruction caused by the jet engine is finally finished. They still have no idea where it came from but I have my own bedroom again.

 

“I still can’t believe you said that.” Dean’s still smiling broadly “Not that I think you’re wrong. She seems the type that’d do anything for a chance to bang him.”

 

We found an old couch on the side of the road, it was worth the effort and time it took to drag it into our clearing in the woods. It’s small and sags in the middle but it’s better than sitting on rocks.

 

Dean slides closer when I just blush.

 

The sag in the middle brings us even closer. His thigh pressing into mine, his hand wrapping round the back of my neck.

 

“You know...” And he’s leaning in closer. He makes it hard to focus. Hard to follow the trails of conversation.  Whispers softly distracting but Dean’s mouth is even more so. Slowly getting closer. Hot breath fanning across my mouth. Giving me suddenly sensitive lips. Making it hard to swallow. My mouth dry. My lips dry, chapped.

 

“Yes?” And I don’t even know what I’m asking.

 

“Hmmm?” His darting tongue catches the edge of my lips. “What?”

 

“You were saying...” My words drag his mouth against my lower lip. It’s a hard fight not to shake my head. “Something.”

 

I just want to kiss him, but his thumb is trailing little paths up and down the pulse point on my neck.

 

“Hmm. But what was I saying?” Lips catching, dragging, brushing.

 

I think I’m beyond caring. Push forward and open his mouth with mine, start instigating. Hot tongue sliding up against his, lips dry then slick and moaning. Both his hands sliding up under my white shirt, calluses drifting, counting rib bones till they glide around to shoulder blades and pull. Groan. Gasp, break off moaning. Thigh pressing up and against, between. My hands tugging insistent at his tucked in t-shirt till I can...skin. Warm, smooth, hot skin. His back, shoulders, down his sides.

 

He’s breathing hard, we’re both panting. Rough beginning of bristles inside my collar. Teeth, mouth, tongue...And we’re rocking. Thighs, hips, crotch growing. Insistent moaning.

 

“God Cas.” His hands won’t stop roaming.

 

Flat plane of chest, nipples. Christ! Bucking, groaning. Touch his nipples and his teeth sink into my collar bone. Panting breath then his soft tongue...slowly. Slowly rocking together whilst his fingers are nimbly undoing buttons.

 

“I just want to...” His voice deep against my skin.

 

Quick and sharp and jerking. Shoving at my legs and hips till he’s underneath me. My legs straddling his hips and his...his zip, my zipper, our cocks align.

 

“Just let me.” His mouth hovering over my bare skin, naked chest. Shirt hanging open, caught by my tie. He starts rocking. Grab his shoulders and I’m groaning. Breathless. Oh god. We’re really close now. His cock and mine. “I just want to do this.”

 

His lips painting patterns over my chest, trails of hot breath, kisses. I can’t...Close my eyes tight. I’m going to...Thrust down harder. Cry out as the pleasure starts building.

 

“Yeah Cas.” Panting moans encouraging. “Just like that.” His hands drifting down, they find my hips and starts me rolling.

 

“Oh fuck.” I’m suddenly whining. I can’t, it’s great, I’m coming. Hips jerking as he grinds up slowly.

 

And he’s moaning, slowly thrusting, shoving himself upwards, hands holding me down, pulling me harder onto him.

 

“Oh...fuck.” His eyes are open, green, brown. The colour barely showing. And I grind down slowly, deliberate and he’s finally coming. “Fuck.” He’s shaking.

 

Then after awhile. “Sorry.”

 

“For what?” I can’t help staring at him confused and frowning.

 

“I didn’t mean. I was just...” Sitting up and our eyes are suddenly level. “I didn’t plan that. That wasn’t my intention. I just...” He’s actually blushing. “It wasn’t my intention.”

 

“To do that?” Can’t help it if I’m smirking.

 

Bright, sly grin.

 

“I see you’re not complaining.” He’s confident again.

 

 “No, not exactly.”

 

“Good.” Then his mouth is on mine again.

 

***

 

**Part Three**

 

** _October 10th 2009_ **

(Twenty Days Remain)

 

Anna holds me back after science class. She wants to know if everything is alright at home. At school. With the other students.

 

“I heard about what you said to Mrs Farmer.” She looks serious but not quite disapproving.

 

“What do you think about destiny?” I find myself asking.

 

“Destiny?” Her pretty eyes are frowning.

 

“Or time travel?”

 

“Time travel?” She echoes.

 

“It’s just that I’ve been thinking. About Mrs Farmers class. About destiny and what if it’s linked to time travel. What if you could see into the future. Know what was going to happen. What if you wanted to stop that? What if it was more important to stop your destiny?”

 

She nods her head slowly.

 

“I think I know where you’re going.”

 

“You do?” Which is surprising.

 

The idea that maybe destiny could be used in conjunction with time travel only occurred to me last night. Laying awake in my own bed again. Listening to the voices whisper that the end is coming. That the Apocalypse is near. Mostly it was relief. An end of fighting. An end to their struggle. Their endless searching. A choice had finally been made. The end would be like a beginning. Because everything would begin again. The world remade anew.

 

But they had to tear it all down first. Destroy it. Destroy everything in it. Everyone in the world.

 

“Castiel?”

 

Blink and stop staring right through her.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“You were listening to something else in your head?” She smiles politely. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen that look upon your face. But we were talking about time travel. You wanted to know what I think? Is that right?”

 

“Is it even possible? I mean, to take something back to the beginning again?”

 

“That would depend on a lot of factors.” She looks away and reaches for her bag. “Maybe you should read this book.”

 

“The Philosophy of Time Travel.” Frown down at the cover. “By A. Sparrow.” Stare at her in confusion. “This was written by Grandma Death?”

 

“Is that what they call her.” She nods and smiles ruefully. “It may answer some of your questions.”

 

Nod slowly, turning the book over in my hands.

 

“Thank you.”

 

***

 

“The book says that God made Angels and to them he gave the gift of time. So Angels can change time. They can make things go back or forward, but it’s not easy to make it stop and start. Sometimes they have to use, what’d they call them?” Flick through the book laying on the dining table. “An Instrument of God. Or a Vessel.” Look up into Sam’s blinking eyes. “And an Artifact.”

 

“Uh ha.” He just blinks at me. “Cas you...”

 

“But it makes sense you see. The Artifact will have special symbols. Angel Sigils. So the Vessel will know that the Artifact is from God. Or the Angels. That his destiny is important.”

 

“Have you stopped taking your meds again?” And this time his voice is serious.

 

Stop, frown.

 

“No. Why would you ask me that? Look, it says it here in the book.”

 

“You don’t even believe in God Cas. And it’s just a book. Written by a crack pot old lady. Why would you believe what it says in this book, but nothing in the bible?”

 

“Because I...” Staring into his eyes and I can’t explain it to him.

 

Can’t explain that a man in a rabbit suit came and told me the world is ending. That he called me out of bed, saved me so that I could be a Vessel and be part of the Apocalypse. Be a part of bringing the world to an end. Destroying everything so they can begin again. So the Angels can begin again.

 

Look down at the table then away.

 

“I don’t know. It just... I thought it made sense.”

 

“I don’t know Cas. I think maybe you should show this to Dr Missouri. Maybe she can help you, you know, help you so things start to make some sense.”

 

Sit up straight and meet his eyes.

 

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you? You think...”

 

“Cas...”

 

“Forget it.” Grab the book and head upstairs.

 

***

 

“Your brother mentioned you were reading a book.” Dr Missouri begins as soon as we both sit down.

 

I don’t want to talk about the book right now. Sam thinks I’m going completely crazy, or that I’ve already gone past crazy if I believe in that book.

 

“It’s written by Grandma Death. Did Sam tell you we almost ran over her last time he drove me here. She was standing in the middle of the road. She said...” Stop and stare out the dark window.

 

“Castiel?”

 

“She said everyone dies alone.”

 

“And how did that make you feel?”

 

Dean would hate this, having to talk about his feelings.

 

“Castiel?”

 

“I had a dog once, her name was Grace. One day she crawled under the porch and wouldn’t come out.”

 

“She crawled under there to die?” She asks kindly.

 

“She crawled under there to be alone.” Look right at her. Her kind, dark eyes understanding. Gentle.

 

“Do you feel alone Castiel?” Her voice is soft and sincere.

 

I don’t want to think about it. About all the whispers searching, seeking, crying. Giving up and now bent on destruction.

 

“It’s not like I don’t believe in God. Because I want to. I want to believe he’s here but I just...I could keep looking for signs. I know people have been searching and seeking but in the end there’s just no sign of him so I just, I don’t want to think about it anymore.” Laugh softly and look away again. “The whole thing is absurd.”

 

“The search for God is absurd?” She asks gently.

 

Meet her eyes and ignore the whispers swirling round me.

 

“It is if everyone dies alone.”

 

“Does that scare you?”

 

That they’re hell bent on an Apocalypse? That if it happens everyone will be destroyed? Sam and Mom and Charlie. Even Dean.

 

“I don’t want to be alone.”

 

***

 

The house is silent. Too quiet. Mom had to take Charlie to her writing group. Charlie’s favourite day of the week. Three hours of extra classes on how to write a short story. She doesn’t need the help but she wants to make it on TV. A national writers comp for under fifteens. If she gets on she’ll be the youngest. It really shouldn’t be a struggle for her. Her latest story in her John the Hunter series featured a Vengeful Spirit. One that didn’t want to move on. Full of rock salt in the shot gun and iron...

 

The whispers are getting louder. They never really leave me but...

 

‘I can show you the way.’

 

Try to swallow past the lump stuck in my throat. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I want to see my destiny or watch the end of the world.

 

But there’s light blossoming out from my chest. Blue and silver threaded through with gold. Slowly trailing towards the kitchen. I should stay. I don’t want to go but...Maybe if I watch this, see this, follow...Maybe I can see into the future. Like in the book. Maybe if I follow it I can watch it all unfold. Maybe if I follow far enough so I can stop them. Maybe if I see it all unfold I’ll be able to stop it all. Stop it and save the world.

 

The light stretches out and up and further. Through the kitchen, up the stairs, down the hallway. I pause a moment at Mom’s bedroom door before pushing it open and following the light to the closet door. Down between her dresses, under shoes, shoe boxes. Under a dirty. Stop. My hands hovering. Familiar smell of gun oil.

 

Swallow back the fear and lift the dirty rag. Gun. Boxy and dull and black.

 

“Castiel?”

 

Tremor of adrenaline.

 

“Cas are you home?”

 

Sam. Oh hell. Grab the gun and replace the box lid. Shut the closet door softly. Slide around the bed. Out Mom’s bedroom. Down the hallway, across the hall.

 

“Cas?” He’s coming closer.

 

Check the safety like Dean taught me and shove it down the back of my jeans.

 

“Castiel?”

 

“Yeah.” And my voice is shaking.

 

“Hey. Didn’t think you were home.” Sam stops in my open doorway.

 

“I was just sleeping.”

 

“Well ah...” He’s frowning. “Did you want to come down for some pizza?”

 

“Yeah. In a minute. I just...”

 

“Are you okay?” He moves inside and closer.

 

“No. Yes. I just, it was a nightmare. I just need a minute.”

 

“Oh. Okay. Well I...”

 

“Just give me a minute!” Snapping.

 

Blinking shock but he backs away and closes the door after himself.

 

Now I have a hand gun. Oh shit.

 

***

 

_ **October 18th 2009** _

(Twelve Days Remain)

 

“Did you ever, I mean...” Dean blushes. “Have you ever had sex with a girl?”

 

He’s still trying to teach me to handle a rifle. When we take a break from making out and groping that is.

 

This isn’t like a hand gun. This isn’t something used to shoot someone. This is more like hunting. And more importantly, to Dean, teaching me to shoot is fun.

 

Line up the position and let my shoulder drop. Slowly breath out and squeeze the trigger.

 

“Hey, good shot.” Dean’s smiling.

 

“No.”

 

“No I mean it. You actually hit the bottle this time. You might need a little more work on the exact...”

 

“I meant...” Blush. “I mean no. I’ve never been with a girl before.” Carefully reload the rifle.

 

“Never? Not even once?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe me.

 

Turn my head to glare at him.

 

“I’m crazy Castiel, remember?” Remind him, bitter.

 

“Oh, but I mean. You’re...what about before?” He wants to know. He’s sitting over on the couch, slowly drinking a beer from a bottle.

 

“I mainly kept to myself.” Explain softly, already focussing on the gun in my hands.

 

Repeat the previous progression with the rifle and manage to hit the centre of the bottle this time.

 

“See, you’re getting better.” He sounds like a proud parent.

 

***

 

Staring at myself in the mirror. Blue eyes, messy dark brown hair. Everyone is out again. The house is empty. I’m alone. Alone except for Raphael. Raphael staring at me over my shoulder. So close, almost close enough to touch. Whispered words of destruction. Eager. Impatient. This will not be my destiny. Destiny full of useless pills and bringing about destruction. I will not take part in the end of the world.

 

“I won’t do it.”

 

His silver eyes stare at me passively.

 

“I won’t.” Assure him.

 

I won’t take part. I’m going to stop this. Leave the bathroom but I’m soon heading straight back.

 

A knife in my hand from the kitchen, he’s still standing there unmoving.

 

‘Destiny.’

 

‘28 days, 6 hours, 42 minutes and 12 seconds.’

 

‘Apocalypse.’ They make it sound like rapture. ‘End of the world.’

 

“NO!”

 

Raise the knife and strike to stab him.

 

Nothing happens. The knife bounces harmless back. Harmless to him. I can’t hurt him. It won’t work...but I have to stop him.

 

“This is your destiny.” A trace of mockery.

 

“NO!” Strike at him again.

 

“You will help us Castiel.” No chance of escaping.

 

“NO!” Hurried, frenzied, desperate stabbing. The blade just keeps bouncing back.

 

I have to do this. I have to find a way. I won’t be part of this. I won’t do it. I won’t. I can’t. I have to. I have to stop it. There has to be a way.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe they’re making us listen to this.” Dean is pointedly disgusted.

 

Cast a quick glance at him lounging back in his seat.

 

“Hey, you alright?” He’s frowning worried.

 

Nod but ignore his frowning. Ignore the flurried whispers of ecstasy. Time is running out. Only ten days remain. Ten days in which to stop this. Stop an Apocalypse. An Apocalypse of Angel making. Shiver. How do you stop an Angel? A being with a gift from God? A God who’s letting all this happen. Who doesn’t care what they’re doing. Who has no intention of making them stop. I finally looked it up in the Bible. Raphael is an Arch Angel. What use am I against that? I may be the Vessel, the Artifact may have fallen in my bedroom and the Angel may have saved my life but the Vessel is just a tool. A pawn. A chess piece. I’m just the...

 

Zachariah is back.

 

In the flesh and saying bull shit. Accept your destiny. Struggling is futile and inflicts pain on others. How about all the pain that’ll be inflicted on them when the world fucking ends?

 

“How much are they paying you to be here?” I’m suddenly standing.

 

“What’s your name son?” His smarmy face smiling.

 

“Castiel.” Like he doesn’t already know.

 

“Well Castiel I think you’re afraid.” Smirking, so fucking condescending. “Do you see how sad this is?” And he’s not even looking at me, swaggering around the stage and talking to his fawning public. “Do you see this?”

 

Hand waving back towards me so that the entire crowd is staring. Staring at the crazy kid. Staring at Crazy Castiel.

 

“This is a person struggling to accept his place in the world.” His eyes finally swinging back to look at me. A patronizing shake of his head. “You are a very troubled and confused young man. I believe you are looking for answers in all the wrong places.”

 

“You’re right.” Spit the words back at him. “I am troubled, and I am confused and afraid. Really, really afraid. But you...” Snarling now. “I think you’re the fucking anti-christ.”

 

***

 

“Dude were you trying to get expelled?” Dean is half way between impressed and terrified.

 

Terrified because I’m going crazy. Just crazy Castiel. No fucking clue what he’s doing. Just tearing shit up. Burning it down.

 

“That man,” Pace across the tiny clearing. Our clearing. Place we come to be alone. “He thinks he’s telling the fucking truth. But everything, everything he says is a fucking lie.”

 

“Are you okay?” Dean is just standing there. Staring at me. Watching me pace furious.

 

“Come on, sit down.” He touches my arm and I lash out. Yank away. Stalk backwards.

 

Can’t sit still. Have to focus. Ignore their agitated whispers. Gleeful, ecstatic chattering.

 

“Cas, calm down.” So soft. But he’s not getting any closer. He’s keeping his distance now.

 

Stop pacing. But keep my back to him. I don’t want to see what he’s thinking. If he’s thinking it. Don’t want to see him realize I am crazy.

 

“You ever heard of Grandma Death?” Ask him quietly.

 

“Not really.”

 

“She.” Pause. It’s either now or never tell. “She wrote this book.” Walk to the couch to dig in my back pack.

 

I can feel Dean getting closer. Feel the heat as his hand touches my back. Careful, so very careful.

 

“Tell me what this is about.” He’s asking quietly.

 

“I...I’ve been seeing stuff. A lot of really messed up stuff.” Turn slowly to watch his face.

 

Neutral. Not crossed over into ‘you’re crazy’.

 

“And there are chapters in there. Chapters that describe stuff like what I’m seeing. And I don’t...”

 

He leans forward till we’re touching.

 

“Cas, I don’t think you’re crazy.” Direct. So close the hazel’s almost swallowed by black.

 

“I think the world is ending.” And I’m desperate. So fucking desperate cause I want to take the words straight back.

 

“Cas.” Still staring. “I believe you.”

 

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Hopeful.

 

“No.” Eyes still holding steady.

 

“Even though I’ve been getting visits from the Arch Angel Raphael?”

 

“Nope.”

 

And I’m just too relieved to question why.

 

***

 

Catch Anna as she’s packing up science books after an eighth grade class.

 

“Professor Anna?”

 

She sees me standing by her demonstration bench and smiles.

 

“Yes Castiel.”

 

“I read that book you gave me.”

 

She simply nods and continues collecting books. Weaving through experiment benches.

 

“If every Vessel travels down a channel, what if you could see your channel and follow it, like a form of time travel? Could you change the end point? Do you think you could change your destiny?”

 

“It’s true, if you were able to see your destiny manifest itself visually, you would be given a chance to betray that destiny.” Her voice is laced with approval.

 

“And I was wondering, seeing as a Vessel travels along a channel in space and time, and requires an Angel to travel, what are the chances of an Arch Angel turning up somewhere?”

 

Because the book doesn’t exactly cover Raphael. It talks about time travel and destinies but not the end of the world.

 

Watch her back as she pauses frozen.

 

“Not...not very likely.” She’s turning towards me slowly.

 

“What...” Murmur into the sudden silence. “What if God was missing? What if he were gone? Would that leave the Arch Angels in charge? What if they decided they wanted to end things? Everything?”

 

Her eyes have gotten large.

 

“I...I’m sorry, I can’t continue this conversation.”

 

Blink and feel myself frowning.

 

“Why?”

 

“I could lose my job.”

 

And she does look frightened and worried. But, it doesn’t make sense. Why would she give me the book if she doesn’t want me to ask questions?

 

***

 

Rain follows us in as we stumble through Dean’s front door in silence. His house is empty. His house is always empty. His Dad is never here.

 

His jacket’s almost black with water, even though I know it’s actually blue. His jeans are soaked and dripping. My clothes haven’t fared much better.

 

“You look like a drowned rat.” There’s pure mischief in his smile. “I guess this means I need to get you out of your clothes.”

 

Swallow.

 

“Isn’t your Dad home?” Hesitate. I’m not sure I’m ready to do this.

 

“Not right now.” He’s already started stripping.

 

Jacket, t-shirt, belt. Watch the leather slide through the belt loops. Top button of his jeans, fingers pausing over the zip.

 

“I could get used to this.” He’s smirking.

 

I’m almost light headed. We’ve been groping, rocking, rubbing but every time with clothes. I’ve seen his broad tanned chest but not everything, not...not him naked.

 

“Cas?”

 

He’s abandoned his zip to slide in closer.

 

“We don’t have to...I’m sure I have some clothes that’ll fit. We can just...”

 

But I’m already reaching out to him, fingers dragging down the zip. Adrenaline rush and my heart starts pounding. Because everything before this, none of it naked but now...try to push my hand in. It’s too tight a fit. I can feel Dean’s groan of frustration. His hand already in its favourite place around the back of my neck.

 

“We need to get you naked.” Before he leans in for a kiss. “Preferably now.”

 

“Here?” Try to stay focussed.

 

It’s cold, we’re wet, I’m shivering. I want to, god I want to but...not like this. Not standing naked in the entrance. His Dad could come home at any moment. Which brings a rush of heat. I’m not like that. Not like Dean who’s sure and confident. Happy just to strip.

 

He’s happy to continue shifting closer, even if my hand is pulling free of his jeans. Too tight. Too wet for movement. Even if I want to be moving. Hand wrapped around his...

 

“Why don’t you come upstairs?” He’s suggesting.

 

Stubbled jaw, lips pressing kisses against my throat. An edge of rough, but his lips are soft and slow. So patient. Like he has all the time in the world. While his hands are already working at the buttons of my shirt. Pulling material free of my loose tie and peeling it over my shoulders. Hot mouth, lips slowly parting, breathing warmth across my neck. Sharp gasp and I’m shuddering.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Hmm?” Humming against my collar bone. Wet kiss followed by a lick. Grab hold of his hips as his cheek rubs against my damp skin. Rough, stubble, I can’t think. “The things I want to do to you.” He murmurs, his hands still busy removing my shirt.

 

It gets caught at my wrists and I’m struggling to breathe.

 

“I want to see you naked.” Fingers popping open the cuff buttons. “All your pale skin against my sheets.”

 

Careful jerk and my shirt is wrenched free. Finally gone. I’m finally half naked. Swallow. Hear it quietly hit the floor. Then there’s silence for a moment before his mouth is covering, taking over mine. Deep moaning, his tongue, and heat. My hands finally free to touch him. His skin cold and damp. Shoulders damp, but just above his jeans there’s so much heat. And it’s so easy to stroke down his spine, pull him in closer. Forget all about the wet tiles, front door. I’m encompassed by his heat.

 

His wet pants are still in place. Cold jeans covering his thigh, shifting closer, open pants against mine. Jolt and grind in closer. Groan.

 

“Fuck.” On a breath, Dean’s panting. “Upstairs.”Another kiss. Making me breathless. Then his voice is more commanding. “Now.”

 

Nod, hands already pushing at the waist of his jean. I want to see him. Rub, get in closer.

 

“Fuck.” Breathless moan. “Cas...”

 

Bite at his lower lip. Suck at it. Kiss.

 

“Jesus.”His hand burying in my short hair, forcing us back into a kiss. Tongue sliding over, confident and sure. Stroking and teasing making me push at his jeans harder, forcing them lower. Fingertips touching the first hint of his ass cheeks. Moan and grip his hip tighter. Naked hip. Naked skin. Rock into him. Meeting his rhythm as he thrusts right back.

 

“Oh...” Moaning right into his mouth. Our hips rocking, groins rubbing. “Dean.” Groan.

 

“Upstairs.” He’s moaning.

 

Nod and keep rocking. Groaning. Feel his chuffing laugh.

 

“Seriously Cas.” Grinding forward before stepping back. His hands holding me back. Hazel drowning in black. Broadly smiling, tongue licking his lower lip. “Upstairs or I swear to God we’ll be up against a wall.”

 

Guttural groan.

 

“Christ.” He’s breathing, because that sound didn’t come from him. “You want that?” He sounds unsure.

 

I’m already struggling, pushing against his hands, into his body. Cold but starting to sweat. Covering distance and his mouth is priceless. Stunned, then we’re both shuffling, stumbling. The wall must only be three paces but I hit it with a slap. Then we’re both grinding, suddenly kissing. Hard, deep, his tongue stroking. His hands yanking. At my belt, my pants, my oh fuck! His hand wrapped tight around my cock.

 

My hands helplessly fluttering, shifting, falling. Sliding useless down his back. Skin on skin and aching. Breathless, gasping. I’m trapped. His thigh, his chest...Moaning desperate. His hand, his thumb. I’m practically naked. Pants around my ankles and I can’t... I don’t want him to stop.

 

Fingers wrapped around me tightly, callused palm and stroking...Not hard, or slow, or soft. Just jerking steadily. His mouth biting against my neck. Letting me whine and gasp and cling to him. Hands grabbing his arm, his hip, thrusting desperate. So close, already. Know that feeling. Know this feeling. Heat already rushing, light headed, cock throbbing. Pulse beating at a rapid rate. But he’s not stopping.

 

“Dean.” My head’s already falling back. But I’m trying to warn him. I can’t stop. I need...I want...I need this. “Dean!”

 

But he’s cutting off all protests. Mouth covering, claiming. Teeth softly biting.

 

“God, I can’t, oh fuck!”

 

White, hips jerking, splattering come all over his hand. Whine as his thumb slides over the head. Shudder and discover he’s still hard, still trapped inside his jeans.

 

“I could almost get off on that.” Voice breathing across my ear, quietly shaking. “I think we need to shower.” Shifting back to stare at me. “If you think you can cope with that.”

 

Nod slowly. I’m barely starting to breathe again.

 

***

 

“You really are cold.” His hands pulling me closer as he closes the bathroom door.

 

“I’m wet.” Point out.

 

“I promise to warm you up.” Smiling slyly.

 

“You did, then we stopped kissing.” Remind him.

 

“Uh ho, is that a complaint I hear?” He’s grinning.

 

Roll my eyes and tug at his jeans.

 

“Aren’t these uncomfortable?” Ask him.

 

His eyes flare with heat before they narrow.

 

“Yeah, they are but, you don’t have to do this. You get that right?” Watching me closely.

 

“I’m cold, we’re basically naked.” Stare at him. “I want to.”

 

“Yeah but...” He trails off.

 

He may have turned the heater on but it’s not doing anything to stop me shivering. I’m standing in my boxer shorts. Dean’s still covered by his jeans.

 

“Do you still want to?” Question him.

 

He waits a moment but nods slowly. It’s a stupid question to ask, I can still see him outlined between the open zip. But he’s not pushing and if I don’t do this he’s not going to. We won’t get to do this. Grab hold of his jeans and help him strip.

 

It’s easier from this angle. Not tight and close, yet. Easy to slide my fingers into the waistband and pull his jeans down. Easy to watch his eyes go black as I end up on my knees in front of him, mouth so close, hot breath hovering. His hips jerk involuntarily, but he’s not grabbing my head or pushing. Just biting his lip and looking away. His adams apple bobbing, eyes suddenly shut. Smirk and pull his jeans free of his feet as he stands in silence.

 

The view isn’t as intimidation as I thought it would be. Thick outline against wet cotton. Reach up but his hands make me stop.

 

“Don’t...just.” Watch as he takes a deep breath. “Let me do that.”

 

Turn scarlet and shift till I’m standing upright again. Fingertips hovering over his waist, naked skin.

 

“Sorry, I...” But I’m left floundering.

 

“No, no I just...” I can see his pulse thudding in his neck. “You’re...” But he trails off, swallows. Blushes softly and coughs. “Probably better if I do it.”

 

Nod. He’s probably right.

 

Then suddenly we’re silent. Unmoving.

 

“You know you don’t have to do this right? I mean you’ve never, and I don’t want you to think you have to. I have clothes. You can just shower. I’ll just...” His eyes flick down my body. “Go.” Watch him swallow again. “I could just...”

 

But I don’t want him to go. I want to...Push my own boxers off.

 

“God, you’re beautiful.” He’s almost whispering.

 

Feel the rush of scarlet. Ignore his comment, ignore the fact he’s stuck still and reach forward, slide closer. He’s not going to stop me. There aren’t going to be any more protests from him.

 

Then I’m pressed against the sink. His hands already touching but I’m more interesting in him. Pushing the material off his skin, sliding a hand around to touch him. Heat. Damp smooth head then underneath there’s taunt skin. Hard flesh. And he’s groaning into my mouth, lips parted. Gasping as I try to stroke him. Soft, not too tight but it’s hard from this angle. Completely backwards to what I’m used to.

 

“Christ!” The word straight from his mouth to my lips.

 

His hips are thrusting but I can’t seem to find the right grip.

 

Try to shift and turn my wrist differently till he finally stills.

 

“Here just...” His hand covering mine.

 

I’m still shivering.

 

His hand pauses.

 

“Why don’t we try this in the shower?” His voice is hoarse. “It’ll be warmer.”

 

Meet his eyes and nod slowly.

 

“Yes.”

 

***

 

It is warmer in the shower. Warm and hot and slick. Easier to slide against him. Rock, rub our thighs entwining. But it’s still hard to find the right grip.

 

“Here.” He’s already panting softly. Hand gently covering mine and repositioning. “Just...” Softly moaning. “You’ve done this. Just...” His hand tightens my grip and together we start to stroke him. “God.” Moaning. “Yes. Exactly...” Rub my thumb up the slit and over the tip. He hisses something but it’s not coherent.

 

Close my eyes and lean forward, keep my hand moving and lick, kiss his neck. He’s still and silent a moment before his free hand slides across my shoulder, a stuttering pause before his fingers slide up my neck, twining at the base of my head. Kiss up his throat, our hands moving slightly faster, a little tighter before he cries out.

 

He’s so hard and his hand’s showing me exactly how he likes this. So it’s not long before he’s gasping.

 

“Cas I can’t...” Stroke him faster. Kiss along his jaw line. “I...” Lick his bottom lip and we move faster.

 

“Yes Dean?”

 

And he’s jerking, thick hot pulses of come all over our hands.

 

“Jesus.” His moans are broken.

 

***

 

The rain has gone, low clouds still hovering but everything quiet as I walk home. I jerked someone off today. I jerking Dean off today. I was jerked off today. And all of it was good. Smile stupidly.

 

Stumble over a crack in the path and force myself to look up, pay attention. Stop reliving the entire thing in my head.

 

There’s a wallet. Glance around but there’s no one here. Just a dark brown wallet in the middle of the pathway. Reach down and pick it up. Leather. Nice, soft leather. Not cheap, it feels expensive. Carefully open it and drop it instantly. Smug face smiling up from the drivers licence. Smug, familiar face. Son of a bitch. That guy is a smarmy, condescending asshole.

 

Zachariah Silverman.

 

Remember to breathe.

 

His address right under his other details.

 

‘Now you know where he lives.’ I hear Raphael whisper.

 

It would be so easy.

 

No! I don’t want to.

 

Pick the wallet up and push it into the nearest letter box. I’m not going to. The guy may be an asshole but I don’t want to. I’m going to forget I ever saw it. Walk faster down the street.

 

Fuck!

 

***

 

** Part Four **

The whispers have been hovering. Bare hints at the edge of my hearing. Raphael is silent. I haven’t heard anything more from him. Nothing but silence since I saw the wallet. Wallet I’m trying to forget. Zachariah Silverman may deserve it but no, I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to pretend I never saw the address. Pretend I don’t know which wide, large house he lives in. Precise, pristine green lawn. Expensive Jag in the driveway.

 

It wasn’t like this when I burnt down Alastair’s house. That time I just woke up standing in a room. Room that smelt like gasoline. Smoke all around. And I had to get out. Get out before it burnt down around me. Then I was running, followed by darkness. I woke up back home. I thought it was a nightmare. Just another nightmare till the police were hammering on the door. Someone saw me heading into the house that night, saw me carrying the gasoline.

 

I was arrested and sent for judgement. Sent away to jail. Six months in detention. Six months, then the voices started.

 

If this is Raphael’s master plan I want no part of it. I won’t take part in brining the world to an end.

 

***

 

Charlie is reading her story tonight. It’s talent night at our high school but I’ve been banned. No after school activities. Not exactly a harsh punishment for being rude to a teacher but I’d have liked to be there. Sit in the audience for Charlene. But Mom and Sam will be there. Sam’s even taking a friend.

 

Dean doesn’t have any reason to go. I’m sure he’d sleep right through it like he does our gym class video’s. Even if he wouldn’t mean to. The lights go dim, a video goes on and Dean just drifts off till the end.

 

***

 

“Your Mom actually let you stay out tonight?” Dean’s asking.

 

Shrug and dump my bag on the end of his bed.

 

“I told her your Dad was home.”

 

“You lied?” Eyebrow raised and he’s actually laughing.

 

Blush.

 

“Well you said...”

 

“Yeah but...” Slight hint of hesitation. “I mean, he says he’s coming home tonight but I don’t know. Sometimes he gets caught up at work.”

 

“He’s a travelling salesman.” Frown in disbelief.

 

His head ducks and he looks away.

 

“Yeah.” His voice comes out flat, unhappy.

 

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Pause uncertain. “I mean, my father’s dead.” Shrug.

 

 “No.” And he meets my eyes again. “It’s just...” But he trails off and doesn’t speak.

 

“Dean...”

 

But he looks away.

 

“How about some food?” He offers after a moment.

 

Nod and follow him down to the kitchen.

 

***

 

Kissing, groping, grinding. We’re like a pair of animals. Not that I’m complaining. Dean’s hand is already touching...groan. His hand already wrapped around... I don’t know where our clothes have gone. Kicked over the side of his bed, thrown over his laptop. It was Dean’s idea to watch pornography. One tall, broad shouldered buff guy, an anonymous blonde and a hotel bed. It lasted no longer than two minutes. Sitting side by side watching his computer, sitting relaxed at the head of his bed. Dean’s hand rubbing against the bulge behind his zipper.

 

Two minutes and I had to help him. And it was easy to slide my hand in this time. Not too tight from the cold and wet. Easy to push inside his boxers to skin. So much heat. Easy to stroke along the side of it, pull him free as he shoved his jeans and underwear out of the way. Easier to find an angle that worked. Easier to find a rhythm. Easier for everything.

 

Easier till he rolled over and shattered my focus. Suddenly pinned me to the bed.

 

Now our clothes are missing and he’s slowly moving downward. Bypassing nipples to breathe a kiss against my stomach, navel, lower. Swallow hard and try not to shove up from where he’s placed me on the bed. Hard to stay still. Hard to stay focussed, not reach out and grab at him.

 

Watch as his eyes roll up to watch me, hands trailing down the inside of my thighs, pushing them wider. Remember to breathe, not get lost as his mouth slides over. Soft lips, wet heat just over the head. There’s a sudden hitch in my breath. Suction and I’m thrusting, back arching off the bed. My hips shoving and he takes in everything. Eyes closing to slide down, sucking, always sucking. Pauses at the bottom then slides back up.

 

I can’t, I’m going to...Curse, whine. But his hands grab mine where they’ve fisted in the bed. Anchoring, holding tightly. His eyes open, mouth just holding me inside him. Pant and try to lay still, just stay still and not thrust again. Then his tongue rolls over the head.

 

“Dean!” Buck and thrust into him.

 

A moment of bliss before he waits again.

 

“I can’t, Jesus, Dean, I’m going to...”

 

His mouth slides off.

 

“Just trust me.” He’s asking.

 

Groan and Christ, I’m shaking. Nod sharply, feel his fingers slide under my palms, making me hold onto him. He runs his lips over the head once, then again.

 

“Trust me.”

 

“Okay.” Even my voice is shaking.

 

His mouth is soft, tongue moving slowly. He’s not sucking just sliding slowly, lips inching down on me. Down, then up, repeating it slowly. His eyes closing as I moan quietly. I’m not sure I should watch him. Watch my cock slide down, vanish inside his mouth. But closing my eyes is harder. No more anchoring. Only his hands and fingers gently stroking. But it’s not quite enough. Not enough to stop me rocking, grinding up as he starts softly sucking. Buck and his hands grip me hard, tight. Pain and it’s a shock. Enough to make me stop.

 

Sag back against the bed and let him do everything, anything he wants to me. Mouth still sliding but not as slow now. Tongue teasing as he reaches the top. Barest hint of too much before he’s going back down again.

 

He sucks hard and my knees lock. It’s probably a good thing his body is pressing them open, elbows leaning over my hips. Thrust up and he just takes it, slides his mouth right down my cock and now we’re both moaning. His eyes closed, mouth sucking. My hips snapping up. This time he’s not trying to stop me. He lets me give in to his mouth sucking on my cock.

 

White starting to sparkle at the edge of my vision, hips continuously thrusting up. Up, down. And his mouth just continues to suck. Soft tongue deftly stroking. And I can’t, I’m babbling, I’m desperate. But this time I know he’s not going to stop.

 

His fingers holding mine are stroking, tiny incoherent patterns of back and forwards and up. Back down, his mouth’s so slick now. Slick, fast and sliding.

 

“Dean.” Pant. Try to tell him. “God.” Heels digging into his back. His mouth just moves on me faster. “I can’t...” But I’m already coming. Exploding. “Jesus.” The world is sparkling. Cause he’s swallowing. Swallowing everything down.

 

Sink back finally, slumping.

 

“Dean...” Can’t breathe, I’m just panting. “Dean...” Groan. “Fuck.”

 

***

 

He’s still hard as he slides back up the bed. Hard, hot but kissing gently. Tastes of salt, semen. I have, I know my own taste. Every guy tries it. But mixed with Dean, it’s enough to make me want to do this again. Right now. Except my cock is too sensitive. But Dean on the other hand...Wrap my hand around him and push against his shoulders. I want to try this. Want to know what he tastes like. If he tastes like me. If what he did is as easy as he made it look.

 

I know that’s unlikely. I’m not stupid. Sucking cock isn’t like pornography. Can’t be as easy as Dean made it look. But I still want to try it. Want to try everything. Swallow hard. Maybe not everything right now, but later. Some other day later. Maybe we’ll get another night together.

 

“You don’t have to...”

 

“Dean.” Look down at him. “Shut up.”

 

He’s blinking but his hips are restless.

 

“Just let me.” Smirk.

 

He’s already breathing hard.

 

“Alright but don’t try and do that.” Watch his face rush crimson.

 

Slide down to lick his chest.

 

“What?” Look up and try to look innocent. As innocent as he seems to think I am.

 

I may not have done any of this but it’s not like I haven’t thought about it, watched it on video.

 

He tries to look serious but he’s already smiling.

 

“Don’t even try to deep throat.”

 

Sink teeth into his right nipple. Feel him hiss into the tiny pain.

 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Smile against his skin.

 

“I think I’m a bad influence on you.”

 

“You really think I’m an angel?” My mouth is hovering over his cock.

 

His face clouds over.

 

“Cas, you’re still a virgin. I’m definitely not. So yeah, I think you’re practically an angel. Sue me.”

 

Glare and lick the head of him.

 

“Jesus.”Watch his eyes squeeze shut.

 

He doesn’t taste that much different. Maybe more acidic. Run my mouth over his cock. Maybe less like salt but essentially the same. And from here the texture’s different, smooth soft skin over tight, hard...Watch Dean shudder and groan. Flick my eyes back up, the slick weeping head of his cock moving under my tongue.

 

“Fuck.” He’s hissing softly. “Just.” He sags back. “Do whatever you want.”

 

I want to suck his cock but it is intimidating. He’s thicker than I realised. Easy to suck the head into my mouth but harder to suck him down. Barely an inch past the head and I’m gagging. Hastily pull back up.

 

Dean is panting.

 

“Just...just...”

 

Suck him back in and rub my tongue over the head.

 

“Oh...” A groan.

 

Move down slowly, my hand sliding up. Keep on sucking as I start to stroke him but it’s harder to keep a rhythm.

 

“Just.” His hand on the back of my head. “Don’t over think it.” He sounds so breathless. “Just...”

 

Stroke over him with my tongue, softly, slowly suck.

 

“Yes.” Moaning. “Just like that.”

 

It’s hard to swallow and keep moving but he seems to like it. My mouth tightening, tongue pressing him to the top. Against the roof of my mouth, just before my throat. Trying to be careful of teeth but it doesn’t seem to bother him. Shifting back and forward that small inch. Pulling back completely then parting my mouth slowly over his cock, pushing him in slowly. Tongue darting out, coating the head with salty pre-come.

 

His hips start rocking restless, careful fingers tightening in my hair.

 

“Cas, you...” Moaning softly.

 

Suck harder, move a little faster. Watch his head fall back, his bottom lip falling victim to his teeth.

 

“Might want to...”

 

Keep on moving even though my jaw is aching.

 

“...to...”

 

Push my tongue hard into the top, a rhythm of tongue and sucking. His hips jolt.

 

“...to...”

 

His fingers pressing me closer. Slide a little lower. He’s working closer to my throat.

 

“Cas...” Groaning. Shifting in and out now, so that all I can do is suck.

 

Swallow and he cries out.

 

“Cas...going to...”

 

He’s trying to warn me. Suck harder, I don’t want to stop now. Then suddenly he’s pulsing, coming directing down my throat.

 

Swallow and keep on swallowing. His hand is pushing me to him but I could move back, I could pull off, could simply stop. But I don’t want to.

 

He tastes almost exactly the same and there’s a lot. Spilling past my lips, over my chin. He’s slumping backwards and his hand suddenly drops.

 

“Shit! Cas. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He’s already sitting up.

 

Slide up and grab his shoulder, pull him closer and kiss his mouth. Brief kiss before he stops me.

 

“I’m...” He looks so worried.

 

“I wanted to.” Cutting him off.

 

“You didn’t have...” Hazel eyes staring into me.

 

“What part of I wanted to is unclear?”

 

It looks like he’s in shock. Sigh and kiss him softly.

 

“Seriously, you didn’t have to do that.” He continues to protest.

 

Fall back onto the bed beside him.

 

He only glares and shifts on top of me.

 

“I’m being serious. You didn’t have to...” Make a sound of protest. “Not that I’m complaining.” And he’s grinning again. “I’m just making a point.”

 

***

 

The smell of gasoline is the first thing to hit me. Gasoline, then the heat from the flame of the lighter between my fingertips. This isn’t real. I’m asleep in bed and Dean is behind me. I couldn’t have snuck out. Dean would have heard me. Dean would have stopped me. I can’t be here right now. Not possible, just breathe in deeply. Gas fumes. Another wave of gasoline assails me.

 

Feel my heart start racing.

 

This isn’t real. I’m not here.

 

Step back, stumble, the lighter falls. Watch it hit the wooden floor. But it’s automatically extinguished. Stare at it. My heart pounding.

 

Not real, not real. Turn slowly. The floor and walls are covered. Glistening, slickly wet. The whispers pick up and start a symphony.

 

Gone. He’s gone. There’s no point. Tired. So tired. Just end it.

 

Wailing, crying, desperate.

 

Try to find a way out but instead I find a painting. Zachariah smiling down. Assessing, patronizing, condescending. Smug confidence. Such a lying son of a bitch. He thinks he knows everything. Thinks he knows about destiny, how it’s a wonderful beautiful thing. Reach down and pick up the lighter.

 

Or maybe I’m just confused. Snicker and smile up at him. Maybe I should just embrace my destiny.

 

Light the painting and watch the flames spread. Up his perfect, tailored suit. Across his waist and up his chest.

 

He’s so sure destiny is such a good thing. That I should just top struggling. Stop hurting those around me. Smile as his face bursts into flames. I hope he likes what I’ve done to the place.

 

***

 

It’s all over the news when I get home the next morning.

 

 ‘...fire crew has only just finished putting out a house fire...’

 

‘Fire at Zachariah Silverman’s house...’

 

‘...the authorities are not ruling out arson...’

 

‘Police on site have reported finding a hidden room.’

 

‘...what can only be described as a hidden torture chamber...’

 

‘...satanic ritual...’

 

‘...blood all over the walls...’

 

News reports flashing up images of fire damage. Zachariah in hand cuffs, protesting he doesn’t know what’s going on. That the last thing he remembers was two months ago. Fire truck on his perfect lawn. White circle with familiar symbols, angel sigils, painted on a smoke blackened wall.

 

What...I can’t...That makes no sense. Then it starts to sink in.

 

It was real. I was there. I did that.

 

Voices circling. Ecstasy. Wistful wailing.

 

I was there. I was really there. I did...I...Feel my bag drop. Hear it slam onto the floor.

 

“Cas?” Sam’s calling from the kitchen.

 

Bend and scrabble to pick it up again. I need to get out. He can’t see me. I have to get away.

 

Bend down but barely feel the canvas. The whispers are rushing. Rapturous. Rising. A delighted cacophony of sound.

 

Pick up the bag. Back out of the living room. Upstairs. Retreat to my bedroom.

 

Upstairs and I push the door shut.

 

Breathe. Push down nausea. Don’t be sick. My hands are shaking. Legs weak. My whole body shaking.

 

Fuck.

 

It was real. I did...I did that. Lit another fire. Burnt another house down. Another house with a hidden chamber. Feel my body drop. I’m going...they’re going to find me.

 

I’ll go back to jail.

 

Feel myself start to rock. This isn’t, this can’t be happening.

 

***

 

** Part Five **

 

** _October 24th 2009_ **

(Six Days Remain)

 

Mom quietly closes the door to my bedroom whilst I watch Charlene on the trampoline. She’s still so hyped from winning the talent competition. Then again she’s living her dream. Going to LA. Going to be on TV. Going to read her story in front of a camera, be heard by the nation.

 

“Castiel?”

 

Glance over and Mom has frozen, eyes locked to the poster on the wall. She never would have seen it if she hadn’t closed the door. Flush and look away. Big bunny ears, silver eye sockets, obscene oversized human teeth. Raphael the Rabbit. The voices are rising and mocking. It’s so close now and they’re pushing. Ecstasy in a wave of whispers. Sliding round, dropping lower, rising up until they’re shouting.

 

‘The end, the end, the end.’

 

“Is that Raphael?” She’s asking softly.

 

Slide past her to pull it gently off the wall.

 

“Castiel?”

 

Nod silent and brush back past her. I didn’t want her to see it. See just how crazy I’ve become. Seeing giant rabbits. Spears of light that guide me through doors. Voices whispering delighted.

 

Sit on the end of the bed and feel her sit beside me.

 

“How does it feel to know your son is a wacko?” Murmur quietly. But I’m not sure I want to know.

 

But her hand is rising to touch me, and for once I’m not flinching back. Her fingertips brushing over my cheek bone, palm resting over my jaw. I can’t bear to look at her. I can’t bear to see the look I know will be there.

 

Her palm is so warm and I can’t remember the last time she touched me. Some time before I burnt down Alastair’s house. Drop my eyes to the floor.

 

Her fingers apply pressure and make me look at her. Meet her dark brown eyes.

 

“It feels wonderful.” And she’s so sincere. She’s not ashamed of me. But she doesn’t know the half of it.

 

Doesn’t know I flooded the school. Or burnt down Zachariah’s house.

 

Watch her muster a small smile.

 

“Sam will be in charge.” She begins to explain. “He’ll drive you to therapy. I want you to promise me that if you need anything you’ll ask him. Sam wants to be your big brother. He’ll take care of you.” Her eyebrows rise pointedly, then drop. “But you can always call Doctor Missouri.”

 

Nod in silence.

 

“Okay.” And finally her hand drops.

 

***

 

Anna’s packing up all her books. Throwing things haphazard and angry into a large box. Frown confused. Watch her from the back of the classroom.

 

“Come in Castiel.” She mutters. “You may as well.”

 

“What happened?” Cross the classroom in confusion.

 

“I’ve been...” She stops, sighs, begins again. “Today is my last day of teaching here.” She explains.

 

Stare at her shocked. I can’t believe, why would they? Then the last conversation filters back and the penny drops. I did this. I asked, I questioned and somehow they found out. She’s been fired.

 

Tear my eyes away. This is all my fault.

 

There are two words scripted on the black board.

 

“Cellar door?” Read softly.

 

“A linguist once said that the most beautiful phrase in the English language was Cellar Door.” She sounds frustrated.

 

The whispers circle round us. Echoing off the walls, through open windows. Watch her still and raise her head slowly. The whispers rarely make sense any more. Just joy and longing. But no more hints of sadness. Searching over. God is gone.

 

“Where will you go?” Suddenly ask her.

 

She frowns as she faces me.

 

“That’s an impertinent question.”

 

Shrug and ignore as the whispers start roaring.

 

“I’ll be staying with family. My grandmother lives up on the hill by the woods.”

 

“Grandma Death?”

 

Watch as her eyes narrow.

 

“Sorry.”I probably shouldn’t call her that if it’s her grandmother.

 

“Yes, Grandma Death.” She agrees. “She practically raised me.”

 

“Did you want me to return your book?”

 

She shakes her head and carefully places another book into her box.

 

“You may keep it. You might find it useful in the future.”

 

“Or maybe the past.” Try to joke lamely.

 

She smiles at that.

 

“Don’t give up on the future Castiel. Don’t forget that the very fact choice exists allows for the chance that preformed destiny can come to an end.” She lectures.

 

Watch as she picks up her finally full box and heads for the open door.

 

“What should I tell the other students?”

 

She pauses.

 

“Tell them that everything will be alright.”

 

***

 

Mom is packed and Charlie is bouncing excited. She doesn’t need the trampoline today. She hasn’t sat still since breakfast.

 

“Mind your brother.” Mom is trying to tell me but Charlie is racing back through the open front door.

 

She hasn’t stopped running around in circles either. Through the front door, back door, through the kitchen. Quickly grab her and pick her up.

 

“I’m going to read on national TV!” She announces excited.

 

“I think I’ve heard you mention it.” Try to sound serious. “Like a billion times before.” Smile into her blue eyes.

 

 “But I’m...” She’s grinning.

 

“I know Charlie.” Remind her patiently.

 

“We have to get going.” Mom is finally smiling.

 

She’s finally relaxing. Sam is in charge. She knows he’ll take care of the place. Of me, of everything. It’s what Sam does. Shift Charlie to my back and carry her out the front door.

 

The car is already packed. Mom’s bag, Charlie’s bag. I don’t want to know what Charlie has packed. Probably a solid weight of books. Her own written stories. She may be eleven but she’s written a lot.

 

“Put me down.” She’s already wriggling.

 

She arrived wriggling and I don’t think she’s ever stopped. I don’t know how she has patience to sit and write. She can barely manage to sit still for an hour of TV or even dinner. Heaven knows how she manages at school.

 

Whispers slide around the car but I ignore them.

 

Feel Sam pluck her off my back.

 

“Be good and don’t drive Mom crazy.” He’s saying.

 

“I’m always good.” Her reply is indignant. “Mom wouldn’t let me go if I wasn’t.”

 

“Still, remember to mind your manners.” Sam’s continuing.

 

Watch her as her eyes roll.

 

“You forgot to say good luck.” She’s not quite pouting.

 

“Good luck Chuck.” I beat him to it.

 

Mom isn’t happy.

 

“I told you not to call your sister...”

 

But Charlie’s grinning.

 

***

 

Missouri is speaking softly. For the first time she leaves me to sit on the couch alone. Leaning forward in an old arm chair to watch me closely.

 

“I want you to tell me something you regret Castiel. Anything at all.”

 

The voices are whispering softly, lyrically rustling. Sliding throughout the room. Rushing over, then down beside me.

 

“Regret.” She repeats. “What do you regret Castiel?”

 

Eager, rapturous crescendo.

 

“That I did it again.” Confession spilling out softly.

 

“What did you do again Castiel?” Urging me to continue.

 

Blink and stare past her out the window. Whispers circling round.

 

“I flooded the school.” Screaming cacophony.

 

Flinch and stare at the ground. Carpet. Coloured patterns.

 

“I burnt down that psycho’s house.” Smiling suddenly.

 

She’s motionless. Silent.

 

“I only have a few days left before they catch me.” My heart beats faster. “But I had to, I have to follow him. I have to follow him or I’ll never figure out his master plan.”

 

“God’s master plan?”

 

“No.” The voices suddenly wailing. Diving, spinning round. “God’s left the building.” Laugh sharply. “He left. There’s only the angels now. Raphael’s in charge and I have to figure out his master plan.”

 

“And if you don’t figure it out?”

 

“Time’s up Raphael says.” Stand suddenly.

 

“What is Raphael planning?” She sounds worried. She should be worried

.

“I don’t know.” Start pacing. “I don’t know his master plan. I don’t know what my part is.”

 

“What has Raphael told you?”

 

The whispers are deafening. Cover my ears and he’s right in front of me.

 

“He’s here.” Back away quickly. “He’s here, he’s...”

 

“There is no one with us.” She soothes softly.

 

“He’s going to kill...” My voice cuts out sharply.

 

“Who is he going to kill?”

 

Try to speak but I can’t tell her. Shake my head, my body trembling.

 

“Castiel?” She’s finally standing. “Who is he going to kill?”

 

Silver eyes shining, his head is shaking. Finger wagging negative. My heart is racing. I have to tell her. He steps forward but I manage to breathe.

 

“Everyone.”

 

***

 

** _October 29th 2009_ **

(One Day Remains)

 

Sam’s leaning back against the kitchen bench when I come down in the morning. His face is unreadable for a moment and I wonder if he knows something, suspects something. Wonder if the police have been around to question him. Asked him where I was that night. The night Zachariah’s house burnt down. Even if they seem preoccupied with the torture dungeon. I know they’re still looking for who set the fire. The arsonist. They’re looking for me. Raphael may say I got away with it but I don’t believe him. It’s only a matter of time.

 

Glance up at the clock.

 

Just one day left. If Raphael is telling the truth. If he’s really found a way to start the Apocalypse. I know he needs me to do something. I’m almost certain it will be something I don’t want to do. All I can do is avoid him.

 

Stare at the clock. Only twenty four hours left.

 

The book may have talked about time travel and Angels and God’s plan but it didn’t talk about ending the world. It didn’t mention an Apocalypse. Only talked about seeing and following the visual destiny. That an Angel would be there to guide me. But guide me to what? The book never explained that. Just that a Vessel’s destiny was God’s work. Important. Something that would change everything for the better. Get everything back on track.

 

How is an Apocalypse better? How is burning down a house a good thing? Unless Zachariah really is a psycho who’s into torturing people, sacrificing them in satanic ritual. But why angelic symbols? And why was there so much blood? Even Dean’s eyes went wide at that.

 

And none of it explains why I flooded the school. Why would the Angel’s want that?

 

“I got in.” Sam’s voice breaks my train of thought.

 

Look up and stare at him blankly.

 

“I got in.” He repeats. “I’m going to Harvard.”

 

He seems shocked.

 

Smile. Shocked like he didn’t seem to expect it. Hasn’t been waiting for the acceptance letter like Mom and I and Charlie. We never doubted. His scores were good and he’s brilliant.

 

“I’m going to Harvard.” He repeats stupidly.

 

“That’s really good.” Smile at him.

 

He’s just blinking.

 

“We should have a party.” Offer. “To celebrate.”

 

It could be the last time he gets to do that. Could be the last night left on Earth.

 

But it’s also Halloween and he deserves it. His face breaks into a broad smile. Eyes shining.

 

“Mom’s not home and without Charlie...” Coax him.

 

“Alright.” He’s grinning. “But only a small one.”

 

Like I have so many friends to invite.

 

On the other hand I don’t doubt he could fill the house.

 

***

 

It’s Halloween so the costumes are expected. There are always ghosts, vampires, axe men. If Charlie was here she’d be a ghost. She loves to dress up. Despite the nightmares she loves the supernatural. Every year she picks a new creature. Last year she was a changeling. This year she wanted to be a woman in white.

 

Frenzied whispers surge around me. Fluttering discordant anticipation . Waiting, they’re sick of waiting. They want this over. They want it now.

 

Ignore them, try to focus.

 

She wanted to be a woman in white. A ghost. A spirit that...

 

The clock strikes ten and there’s an explosive symphony. So many voices. I can’t hear Raphael. Haven’t heard Raphael in...

 

Someone is knocking at the door.

 

***

 

Dean isn’t wearing a costume. Still in his boots, jeans, blue jacket. The undershirt is black. Basic, simple. Nothing strange or even vaguely Halloween like. Maybe he doesn’t like Halloween. Maybe he thinks it’s too childish. Maybe he thinks my costume is stupid. Or maybe he hasn’t even noticed. His hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, feet shuffling on the ground.

 

“Hey I...”

 

“We have a keg.” Try to distract him.

 

His eyes swing up and finally meet mine. There’s half a smile before his face falls.

 

“No that’s not...” He tries to reassure me.

 

A quick look before he glances away.

 

“What’s going on?” Ask quietly.

 

“Can I come in?” And he looks so serious.

 

“Yeah.” Blink and open the door wider.

 

Let him in and lead him upstairs. Upstairs, into my bedroom. Maybe we should have got beer first. If there’s something wrong. If Dean is upset about something...I know Dean likes beer.

 

Stop just inside my bedroom door.

 

“Did you want beer first?” Start turning to face him.

 

Which gets the first real smile as he shakes his head.

 

“No Cas. Beer can wait, I’m fine.”

 

But he doesn’t look fine. Looks a little pale. A little tight around the eyes. Step backwards into my bedroom and he follows, quick look around before he closes the door.

 

“You draw these?” Watch as he walks towards the posters I’ve taped to the newly painted walls.

 

Flush red, blush.

 

“Some of them.”

 

He stops before a nude portrait. Black and white and grey. The face is androgynous. The body obviously male. Watch as Dean raises an eyebrow and stares at it smirking.

 

“So your Mom knows your gay?” He’s finally watching me from the corner of his eye.

 

“She’s never asked me.”

 

“With this I doubt she needs to.” His hand lazily waving.

 

“Does your Dad know?” I ask him.

 

Watch as his eyes get tighter, mouth narrowing to a slim line.

 

“Sorry I...” I shouldn’t have asked that.

 

“My Dad’s gone missing.”

 

“What?” Stare as he turns away again.

 

He glides towards the bed in silence, fist opening then closing tightly.

 

“He went on a hunting trip but he hasn’t called for days.” Straight to the point, voice level, barest hints of emotion. Worry. Frustration.

 

“Isn’t he usually away a lot?”

 

“He always calls me.”

 

He glances at me sideways.

 

“I’ve tried calling him but his cell is off. I tried a few of his friends but no one’s seen him in weeks.”

 

“Have you tried the police?”

 

Watch him freeze up. Shoulders suddenly tense.

 

“No.” His voice is soft but final, he won’t meet my eyes.

 

Why wouldn’t he...

 

“Why not?” Carefully curious.

 

Watch his mouth open then quietly slide shut. Watch as he looks away, out the window then finally back to me.

 

“You think he’s in trouble.” State softly.

 

He swallows and nods slightly.  Slowly moving towards me.

 

“I don’t know. But Bobby said I should leave the house.” He looks so uncertain, younger than I’ve ever seen him. Not his normal cocksure.

 

Nod slowly.

 

“You can stay here.”Offer.

 

***

 

** Part Six **

 

Dean’s mouth is hard and a little desperate, his fingers pushing under my t-shirt. It’s a good thing we’re still in my bedroom.

 

“By the way, I like your costume.” His lips sliding over mine, breath fanning across my lips, hot.

 

It’s not much of a costume. Dark clothes, long jacket, black contacts. Not very fancy for a demon but Charlie insisted it was perfect. She wanted my eyes completely covered in black but Mom said no. The simple black contacts are enough, barely noticeable in the half light.

 

Everything’s a little desperate, hands, mouths, knees, thighs. Stumbling backward till we’re splayed across the bed. Brand new navy sheets. My hips already rocking. My fingers tugging at his jeans. I want to be naked. Want to be...Shudder underneath him. Want to try...Let my thighs fall open and grind up.

 

Groan. Rock underneath him. I want this. I’ve been thinking. Push my hand inside his open jeans. Inside his boxers to hot skin. Fingers wrapping around familiar flesh. I want to feel this, feel him. Feel him as his hips buck, skin sliding against skin. Mouth open as he groans against my shoulder. Run a thumb over the tip. Gather the pre-come and rub it across the head. He moans, hips jerking sharply. My fingers keep stroking the head.

 

“Cas.” Whining moan. “Just...”

 

His own hands holding his weight off me. Makes it easy to rock up against him. Easy to grip him tighter and watch his moans bite off into silence.

 

Slow down and loosely stroke his cock. Slow caressing brushes, feeling his breathing hitch. Stubble rubbing against my neck. Soft wet lips, open then closing. Moan and his tongue licks. Lightly stroking. Both of us teasing.

 

“I want...” Slide against him.

 

He sucks hard and I can’t stop. Moaning, stroking, sliding.

 

“Fuck me.” Breathless moaning.

 

Try to focus. Keep on stroking, not just bucking, rocking, rubbing.

 

There’s a long moment but he suddenly stops. Lips breathing against my skin before he shifts back.

 

“You’re...” Eyes wide, black swallowing hazel. His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip. It makes my hips jerk hard. Ghost of his tongue still on my skin. “Cas...” And he’s moaning. Mouth panting short gasps against my lips.

 

Push my other hand at his jeans, thumb hooking into his boxers.

 

“Jesus.” A groan. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

 

Lean up and suck at his bottom lip. Nod slow up against him, my lips brushing over his. Get his jeans down past his arse cheeks. His cock suddenly free. Grind up slow and deliberate. Watching his teeth sink into his bottom lip. Eyes half closing. My own pants already open, skin sliding against heat. Watch as his eyes roll back, dark lashes fluttering.

 

“This is crazy.” But he’s not protesting.

 

Head dropping forward, this time kissing me languid. Tongue stroking. Teasing. His hips rocking, lost in a slow roll. His hands slowly wander downwards, cupping my cock then stroking. A pause before one finger rubs back. Spread my thighs wider and his heart thumps. Hard, fast. His next breath shaking.

 

“Do you have...” Fingertip circling.

 

It’s sensitive. Strange. Makes me still against him. Watch as he swallows. Eyes flicking up to meet mine.

 

“Lube?”

 

My mouth’s suddenly dry. I can’t swallow. The fingertip pushes against my opening. My hips want to buck. Want to push him in further. Want to know what it feels like.

 

“Cas.” He sounds broken. “Lube?”

 

“Table.” Try to think, speak coherently. “Bedside.”

 

He pulls away, rolls and gets tangled in his jeans. Sudden curses. Try not to laugh hysterical. Slightly nervous.

 

“Don’t laugh.” He’s growling.

 

Grin as he kicks off his jeans. My pants are rapidly pushed off. Pants in a puddle on the floor.

 

Watch his back as he pulls open the top draw. Shoulders dark gold, muscled, waist small. Skin getting paler as it dips lower. Lower still his legs are hairy. Glance down. No more hairy than mine but men in pornography never seem to have legs this hairy.

 

Glance up and he’s watching me.

 

“Do you seriously know what you’re doing? This isn’t...” His eyes so serious.

 

He does this every single time.

 

“I’m not stupid.”

 

“I’m not saying you are, but Cas...” He sits on the edge of the bed. “We don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this. Is this really what you want to do?”

 

Roll my eyes and take the lube from him. Slide over and straddle his lap.

 

Breathe moans against his shoulder as our cocks touch. It’s distracting. His cock hard and damp and pushing up against mine. Slick heads bumping, rubbing. Rock into him. Bite softly into his neck.

 

His hands are suddenly gripping, trying to hold me back. Trying to stop me from rocking, rubbing, sliding.

 

“Cas.” His head falling back. “Jesus.” One hand shoving between us, his hand wrapping my cock.

 

Buck and shove into it. Moaning into his ear.

 

“I want this.”

 

If the world is going to end tonight. If there’s going to be an apocalypse then I want to do this with Dean. Want...I don’t want to die a virgin. Voices mocking. Whispering, laughing.

 

Don’t hear Dean lube his finger but this time when he touches me his fingertip is slick. Finger sliding in once he pushes against me. My thighs wide, held open and fuck. Groan into it. Let him slide the digit inside me. Slow, shift, pressing in, then out.

 

It doesn’t feel wrong. Feels strange and definitely different. It easily slides in deeper and that’s definitely better. Press kisses across his jaw line. Chapped lips brushing over his skin.

 

“More?” He’s carefully it sliding in and out.

 

Nod and cover his mouth. Tongue pushing past his lips. Sliding against his, in then out. Mimic his motions as he pushes two fingers in. It hurts. Buck away without thinking.

 

“Shh.” His other hand stroking my cock softly. “Just relax.”

 

He pushes one, then the other in slowly. Stretching. Slick. Feel his cock jolt between us. My cock isn’t quite so hard anymore.

 

His fingers twist in slowly, pull back, push in quick. Shallow then finally deeper. Pushing in then pulling out slowly. Almost seeking, searching till I cry out, thrust and buck. Pleasure, sparks, white lightening. Bite his bottom lip. Moan loud as he strokes against the same spot on repeat.

 

I can’t stop my hips from rocking. Pushing back, wanting more, deeper, harder. Dean doesn’t seem inclined to stop. I’m suddenly hard again. Rubbing inside his hand, against his stomach. Head of my cock wet and slick. Trails of stickiness against his skin. Panting against his lips.

 

“Remember to breathe.” He whispers.

 

Lost in sensation. Can’t imagine what he means. Till a third finger pushes against the tight ring.

 

“Dean...” Whine in protest.

 

“Just breathe.” His lips brushing over mine. Fingers shifting slowly, first two already buried within. Deep. “Just breathe.” Warm breath but he’s struggling.

 

His hips shifting, cock rubbing up against me. Thick, hard cock. What was I thinking? But his third finger slides in carefully. His other fingers pushing against that lightning spot. I can’t stop my hips from bucking.

 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks quietly.

 

Gasp against his mouth, groaning. Lost. My head shaking.

 

“Cas? Talk to me. Or I’ll stop.” He sounds completely serious even if he’s quietly panting.

 

Try to think straight. Past heat and pleasure and hot. Slightest hint of pain.

 

“Good.”

 

All three fingers finally fill me. Groan and start to rock. Arch forward, push back against him.

 

“So good.” Shiver and reach for his cock. I want to touch him.

 

My hand gets batted away and he’s huffing, laughing breathless.

 

“You do that and we’re...”

 

Suck on his bottom lip and feel him buck. Groan as his fingers thrust into me.

 

“God.” His mouth takes mine hard, tongue darting, slick and hot.

 

Buck, jerk and rock. Rub against him. Want this, want him. His free hand strokes me softly and it’s not enough. I can’t, I want him...

 

“Fuck!”

 

Jerk harder.

 

“Dean.” Moan. “Stop teasing.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

We’re both breathless. Shifting, sliding desperate. Press closer till I’m grinding against his cock.

 

“Cas...” He’s suddenly groaning.

 

“Fuck me.”

 

Broken groan.

 

He rolls and drags me under him.

 

“Just...” His eyes are drowning in black. A slow breath. “Lay still. Trust me.”

 

Reach up and stroke his shoulders. Hips already arching into him.

 

“Jesus.” He bites his lips. Watch his pulse race.

 

His hands push my thighs open wider. Try not to move as his thumb rubs more lube into my opening, my eyes rolling back till there’s nothing but white. Push down and start whimper. Then there’s a pause, his hands just vanish.

 

Open my eyes to watch him slick up his cock.

 

His hands are shaking.

 

“This is going to hurt.” His eyes are staring into mine.

 

I don’t doubt it but I’m impatient. It’s almost midnight.

 

I want him. I want to do this.

 

Watch him take a breath and he leans in closer. And for the first time I feel his cock head. Smooth and slick and it isn’t what I expected. I expected trepidation when all I feel want. I want him to stop being so careful. I just want him to...

 

And finally there’s pressure. He starts moaning. Teeth sinking into his bottom lip.

 

The pressure keeps growing. I want to shift away. Shift forward. Make him move faster. Anything...anything to make the pressure stop. Slice of pain that keeps on burning. Grab his forearms. The only thing of him I can touch. Touch except for his cock still sinking. Pressing in. Pressure still building. Whimper. I no longer want to buck. Want him to stop. Want him to...

 

And then it stops.

 

Watch his face fall, mouth opening on a whimper.

 

I’m not sure I like this. Not sure but I’m not asking him to stop. Just laying still as he pushes in deeper. Sliding slowly inside till he’s finally in deep. A soft moan and he starts to pull back.

 

On the third slow thrust I can’t lay still. I have to move, have to arch up from underneath... Hips arcing, shoving, moving. His breathing ragged. Hands pressing bruises into my thighs. Finger points of pressure, pain and then there’s lightning. He’s found that lightning spot.

 

Sweet, deep spot. And I’m moaning. Thighs wrapping around him, pulling him deeper. Pulling, yanking, desperate till he finally falls forward. Mouth open, broken moaning. Stubble rough against my throat as he starts rocking.

 

“God...” Lips opening, closing. “Cas...”Groaning.

 

Arch my back and feel him slide in faster. Half screaming as he hits that place again, pleasure skittering up my spine. Grip his shoulders and arch into him. Sweat slick, my hands sliding against his skin.

 

Cry out as our hips find a rhythm. Slick slide motion.

 

“Fuck.” Feel his lips move, half moaning.

 

Hips rocking, rapidly rolling. Deep, so deep inside of me. No pulling back. Just rocking, rolling,  thrusting.

 

It’s already building. His hand stroking my cock. Thumb slick, smooth over the head. Down the shaft. Pushing, pulling, moaning.

 

“I...” My hips already jerking, so close, already clenching. Feel his hips start to stutter. He leans back and starts to shove in.

 

Cry out, voice rough and watch his eyes roll. Cock hard and fast and lightning. White. I can’t, can’t stop. Fingers stroking.

 

Buck, arch tight.

 

“Fuck!” Dean suddenly thrusting. Shoving, sliding. Pounding.

 

Sharp slap of flesh. I’m coming. Exploding over fingers, around his cock. Whimper, whining, moaning. Dean’s hips jerking. Rapid, no rhythm. Hands clutching and he’s coming.

 

***

 

** _October 30th 2009_ **

(The Apocalypse)

 

Voices hissing, babbling, sweeping round. Jolt awake to silence. Dean half on top of me. Warm, solid, naked. Still naked. We...Whirling, whispering, buzzing with anticipation. Anticipation? Blink in the darkness at the doorway. Door closed. Raphael. Startle, heart racing. What time is it? What day is it? The downstairs clock starts sounding. Midnight. It’s midnight. It’s the 30th of October. It’s Armageddon. End of the world. The Apocalypse is here.

 

It’s here and I haven’t stopped it. I have to stop it.

 

Blink and Raphael is gone. Vanished. Missing. Simply gone. Was he even here? I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.

 

But I can’t just lay here. I have to do something. I have to figure out his master plan. If he’s serious, if he can do this. If I don’t stop him. Shudder. Dean will die. Mom will die. Sam will die and Charlie. I have to...I have to...

 

But I don’t know what to do. What can I do?

 

What do I know? I know nothing.

 

Whispers mocking.

 

He wants to destroy the world. He wants an Apocalypse. He wants to stop time, restart everything. Change it all, send it back. And he needs me to do it. But I don’t know how to stop it. How to not do whatever it is he needs me to do. What if by laying here and doing nothing I’m doing exactly what he wants?

 

He’s not calling to me. Not calling me out. Not calling me forth. I’m not somewhere else. I’m not in a building I’m burning down. I’m here. Dean is here. This isn’t a dream. I’m not sleep walking.

 

Dean starts to stir, arm tightening.

 

I can’t allow this to happen. Whatever it is. Whatever he does, however he does it. I can’t, I won’t let it happen.

 

Start to sit but Dean’s leg, his knee which is pressing mine into the bed, gets heavier.

 

Time travel. How to stop time travel? How to make it not happen?

 

They need a Vessel. They sent the Artifact. They need me.

 

I should read the book again. I don’t have time but the answer might be in there. Anna somehow knew that.

 

Stop, stare into darkness.

 

Anna.

 

Why did Anna give me that book? I asked about time travel. Asked about time travel and she gave me a book about angels. Angels that cause time travel but...not exactly a scientific explanation. Not what I’d expected from a science teacher.

 

Why would she...

 

_ “...what are the chances of an Arch Angel turning up somewhere?”_

_   
_

_Because the book doesn’t exactly cover Raphael. It talks about time travel and destinies but not the end of the world._

_   
_

_Watch her back as she pauses frozen._

_   
_

_“Not...not very likely.” She’s turning towards me slowly._

_   
_

_“What...” Murmur into the sudden silence. “What if God was missing? What if he were gone? Would that leave the Arch Angels in charge? What if they decided they wanted to end things? Everything?”_

_   
_

_Her eyes have gotten large._

 

She was frightened. Frightened like she knew something. Understood something. Understood about...

 

_A rush of whispers. Whispers rushing round. Creation. Destruction. Bringing it all to an end. Tired so tired..._

_   
_

_“Castiel?”_

_   
_

_Blink, pull...try to pull my focus back in. Focus back on her pretty red hair. Knowing dark eyes._

 

Knowing?

 

 _“You were listening to something else in your head?” She smiles politely. “I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen that look upon your face.”_

 

Listening. How...how did she know I was listening? How could she know about...

 

_The whispers circle round us. Echoing off the walls, through open windows. Watch her still and raise her head slowly. The whispers rarely make sense any more. Just joy and longing. But no more hints of sadness. Searching over. God is gone._

 

She can hear them.

 

Struggle to sit up. Pushing Dean away. She could hear them. She can hear them. She knows...she...

 

“Wha?” Dean suddenly sitting. “What’s going on?”

 

“She knows.” Pulse racing, staring right into him. “She knows something. If she can hear them and she...oh god.” The sudden realisation. “She wrote that book. It wasn’t her...it wasn’t Grandma Death it was Anna!”

 

“What? Cas? What...hey...where are you going?”

 

Dragging on clothes in the darkness, pushing feet into shoes.

 

“She can hear them! She can...she knew!”

 

“Cas.” His hands find my shoulders, both of us standing, Dean still naked whilst I’m fully clothed.

 

Voices rising. Cascading. Screaming, screeching, wailing.

 

“Castiel?”

 

Blink. Stare into his eyes.

 

“Cas who knew? Who knows? What the hell is going on?”

 

“Anna knew. Anna wrote the book. Anna...”

 

“Professor Anna? From school?”

 

Nod.

 

“She can hear them. She knew. She knew what I was talking about. She...”

 

“Well that makes two of you.” Bitter, impatience. “Can you start at the beginning?”

 

The clock strikes the half hour.

 

“No.” My head shaking. “I don’t have time. I don’t...” All of me shaking. “We have to go.”

 

There’s a moment as he just stares at me. Eyes crystal and unblinking in the half light.

 

“Tell me on the way there.” And he lets me go to get dressed.

 

Pause at the box inside my bottom drawer. I should. I shouldn’t. Dean is almost dressed now. Grab the single content and push it into the back of my pants. Slide into my jacket and start to explain.

 

***

 

“You really think she’ll talk to you?”

 

“She knows something Dean.”

 

“Yeah but...from what you’re saying she had plenty of time to help before and she didn’t.”

 

“I don’t know but I have to...”

 

We’re staring at a cellar door. Glance up at the silent house above us. Windows swallowed in darkness.

 

_There are two words scripted on the black board._

_   
_

_“Cellar door?” Read softly._

 

“What?” Dean’s whispering confused.

 

“Cellar door.” Gesture at what’s before us. Locked, unopened. “She knows I’m coming.”

 

“That doesn’t sound ominous.” Dean snarks. “But if she knows you’re coming why is it still locked.”

 

But he’s already moving forward, poking around the door.

 

“I...I don’t know.”

 

“Alright.” And he’s reaching inside his jacket. “But you and I are having a serious discussion about this shit later.”

 

“What are you doing?”

 

His fingers are inserting tiny metal pieces into the lock.

 

“What does it look like?” A sudden grin over his shoulder. “I’m picking the lock.”

 

“Where did you learn that?” Breathe in awe and shock. Where and why did he learn that? He’s never mentioned breaking into anywhere before? I’ve...I’ve told him everything and he never told me...

 

“I...” A slow twist of his wrist. He sounds embarrassed. “Is it okay if we talk about this later?”

 

Blink at him in silence.

 

“Cas?” And he turns.

 

“I...”

 

“I’m sorry I just...it’s not normally something I can just...” He glances away. “I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

 

“Talk about what?” Ask quietly.

 

“It’s not...” Watch as he shakes his head frustrated, eyes glued to the ground. “It’s not about this. It hasn’t got anything to do with this. I don’t know anything about Angels or time travel or any of this shit but...” He licks his lips, eyes settling on mine again. “I promise I’ll tell you later.”

 

“Is it why you don’t think I’m crazy?”

 

Watch him stiffen slightly but nod.

 

“Yeah.” Soft. “I’ve seen some pretty crazy shit Cas. I know crazy. I’ve watched...” But he stops short. “I’ll tell you later but yeah, it’s why I know you’re not crazy.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

He smiles and leans towards me, lips soft, the kiss quick and almost chaste.

 

***

 

It’s dark inside the cellar. Bare hints of light falling through the high, dirt covered windows. We walk in together but as we’re met with silence we start to explore.

 

Shelves of jam jars. Some full, others clean and empty. A broken bike against the wall. Dean slides past and towards the back door. It’s shut tight, bolted from the other side. No chance of making our way inside the house through there. Not that getting inside through the front door would be a problem with Dean’s skill of picking locks.

 

Whispers slide around me, dipping close, hushed laughter then they’re gone.

 

Deep notes cry out from a piano and I turn slowly to watch Dean. He’s stupidly grinning. A few more notes and I can’t help smiling back at him. Even I know Smoke on the Water.

 

“Shouldn’t we keep quiet?” Whisper at him.

 

“Cas there’s no one...” He doesn’t get to finish.

 

Sparks. Dean cursing in the darkness. Try to reach towards my back. Hands strong and hard grabbing my wrists and wrenching, blade cold against my neck.

 

“Why don’t we take this outside?” Hot breathe sliding against my ear.

 

I can’t see but Dean is cursing. Boxes falling, jam jars breaking, the clatter of metal, another knife.

 

“Move.” Menacing.

 

Struggle but his hands tighten, knife blade sliding against my neck. Not cutting, not cutting yet.

 

“I said move.” Hand crushing, chest pushing against my back.

 

Taller, stronger, older. Drug addict. Insane.

 

“Uriel.”

 

My feet slide useless across the floor.

 

“So nice to know you know it’s me.”

 

Thrill of fear. He’s not trying to hide who he is. Not trying to... We’re almost out the door. Dean silhouetted in weak moonlight. Watch him turn, arm pulled back then swinging but there’s no one there. He stumbles, flinches, jerks sideways. Another figure suddenly beside him. Uriel’s latest sidekick.

 

Jerk and try to fight back, fight against him, reach for my back but his hand just holds my wrists together tighter. Grinding bone against bone.

 

Dean is fighting. Scuffles of dust and dirt in the darkness, illuminated by a far off light. Head lights. We just need to hold on. Stay here, wait. Someone is coming. But Dean is falling forward towards the road now, pushed, kicked, falling. Then getting back up. Fighting hard and swearing loudly.

 

Loud enough for someone inside to hear us. Anna will hear us. Open my mouth to yell.

 

“There’s no one here to hear you.” Lips pressed against my ear. “Well there was but she’s gone now.”

 

Watch Dean take a punch and go down hard.

 

“What?”

 

“The lovely Anna.” He’s breathing, whispering closer.

 

Whispers picking up the word and twisting it, sliding round.

 

“Where’s Anna?” Fight to breathe.

 

“The lovely Anna was in the way.” Struggle and feel the knife start to draw blood.

 

“What have you done to her?” Breathless.

 

Dean is still. Unmoving. He hasn’t gotten up. But the lights are getting closer.

 

I’m pulled back with a jerk.

 

“Get him into place.” Uriel’s voice booming.

 

Get who, what into...

 

“No!” Try to get free.

 

Uriel’s side kick using his boot to push Dean, roll him down across the dirt. And Dean’s not moving. Not stopping him. Not stopping himself from being rolled, kicked...Pushed into position on the road.

 

Feel my pulse thud. Jerk but my wrists are held tight.

 

The lights are coming closer. Faster, closer, swinging round the last bend.

 

“Dean!”

 

Sharp sting as the knife cuts deeper. Heat slipping down my neck.

 

“This is just for you Castiel. Just watch.”

 

Fight harder. Wrists wrenching. I can’t get free. I can’t...

 

Whispers screaming. Car lights rushing closer. He’s going to...Dean laid out across the road. He’s going to and I can’t...I can’t...

 

Agony. Ecstasy. Whisper screaming. Whisper screaming. Whisper...

 

Tires screeching.

 

“DEAN!” Screaming.

 

***

 

Silence. Breeze. Whispers sighing. Car door slamming shut. Wrists free now. The world suddenly hushed.

 

Dean isn’t moving. Dean is...

 

Look up at the sound of the crunch, grind of gravel. Feet, furred bunny, man feet. Man in bunny feet. Fur feet.

 

Fur feet, fur legs, fur body. Silver eyes and obscene human teeth. Costume head hanging from his hand. Eyes glistening in the moon light. Half light. Car lights illuminating.

 

“I’m sorry I had to do this Castiel.” Hard voice, heavy. Real. So very real.

 

Look down, see blood, look up.

 

Dark face cast in shadows.

 

“I’m sorry he had to die.”

 

Slithering whispers.

 

“But it was necessary.”

 

Necessary. Watch him numbly. Dean. Dead. Necessary.

 

Gun in my hand and I’m pointing. Safety off and I’m ready just...I don’t remember it getting into my hand. My hand pushing under my jacket, proceeding to my back, wrapping round the gun, finger sliding into the trigger, clicking off the safety. I don’t remember any of it. Just silence and I’m aiming.

 

“He really loved you.” He’s watching Dean now. Voice soft.

 

Eyes dipped down and I can’t look. Can’t see him. I can already smell the blood.

 

Watch his eyes swing up to gaze across his body, looking at me.

 

“I’m sorry I had to take him away from you Castiel but that’s what had to be done.”

 

“Why?” And I find I’m still breathing.

 

Hand steady, it’d be so easy to take the shot.

 

“Because it was his destiny.”

 

Destiny? This, his destiny...Eyes wide and glassy, green gone hazy grey, mouth hanging open, lips covered with blood but they still look so soft.

 

“He would have told you everything.” He’s moving closer, feet almost standing in blood.

 

Dean’s blood. Dean’s blood. So much of the sweet, sick smell of pennies. Watch as he kneels.

 

“Stop!”

 

Watch his head tilt up even as he sinks down.

 

“He’s gone Castiel.” Watch as the bunny head drops.

 

“No.” Breathing fast now.

 

“Yes. He’s gone and I took him from you.”

 

I want, I want, I want to...almost pull the trigger but I have to stop. I can’t, I won’t, I shouldn’t...

 

“Why not Castiel?”

 

Because I shouldn’t, I can’t, I...because if I do the world will end. If I shoot him I start the Apocalypse. Suddenly weak with the realisation. Try to drop the gun but my fingers won’t uncurl. I can’t let it drop.

 

He won’t let me let it drop.

 

Watch his face flood with frustration.

 

“Don’t you want revenge?” His voice starting to get angry. “Don’t you want to...”

 

“No.”

 

And he can’t make me. I wanted to flood the school. I remember how easy was. So easy to stop holding back. But I burst the water main. I split it open with the axe. And Zachariah’s house. His smug painted face. I wanted it to burn.

 

But I don’t want to do this.

 

I don’t want the world to end. I don’t want an Apocalypse to start.

 

“It doesn’t matter.” And Raphael stands. “You really think you have a choice? I can keep doing this. I may need you to start the Apocalypse but I don’t need you to start this all over again. Destroy your house, your family, your life. I can kill Dean all over again.”

 

Feel my pulse rate stutter at his words. Watch him smile then there’s darkness.

 

***

 

Wake gasping, covered in sweat. Darkness, everything shadowed in...bedroom. I’m in my bedroom. In my bed. Covered in blankets and sheets and warmth. Bedside clock glowing red numbers.

 

11:55pm

 

I’m home. I’m...grab my cell phone.

 

October 2nd 2009.

 

Dean’s not dead yet. We haven’t met yet. Dial his number from memory. Fingers clumsy, slick with sweat. Hands shaking as the number rings. Keeps ringing. Glance frantic at the clock.

 

11:57pm

 

“Come.” Raphael’s voice is calling.

 

If I don’t meet Dean they won’t kill him. There won’t be any point. They can’t kill him.

 

“Hello.” Tired voice mumbling down the line.

 

Stop breathing. He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s not dead.

 

“Who is this?” Frustrated impatience.

 

“Come.” Raphael is more insistent.

 

Click the phone shut.

 

I can’t listen... I can’t, I…take a deep breath. I have to do this. I have to stay here. I can’t leave. I can’t let them.

 

11:59pm

 

The house starts shaking.

 

“Come outside now!” He sounds angry.

 

This is the right thing. I have to do this. If he needs me to start an Apocalypse then...

 

“You will be killed.” Voice threatening.

 

I can hear the house breaking.

 

“I know. But it’s my choice.”

 


End file.
